


Grasping for the Moon

by Seldarius



Series: Phryniverse [6]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-02-29 13:02:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 111,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18778825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seldarius/pseuds/Seldarius
Summary: After a risky slip-up is exposed by the press, the newlywed Robinsons find themselves undercover - in Collingwood. Soon Phryne and Jack aren't only struggling with the newly found poverty and the grim chapters of their past, but also with one another. Busily "helping" Hugh in solving the murder of a young woman, they miss that there is something much darker lurking in the shadows.





	1. Pluto

**Author's Note:**

> I'm continuing to post my old stories. This one was originally published on fanfiction.net from 13/07/2014 to 21/08/2014.

Autumn wind blew an old newspaper through the dark alleyway, while the moon shone curiously on a couple in the shadows, entwined in a rather obvious position against a brick wall. A drunken sailor was yelling at his mate somewhere in the distance, followed by the sound of a smashing bottle. A dog barked in response. The panting man, trapping his sex partner against the brick, seemed oblivious to either. He was standing with one foot in a puddle of something he rather didn't enquire into, while her back slammed into cold stone. This wasn't a place for love or romance and it wasn't about either, his heavy breathing and rough touches told any onlookers in clear language. The moon looked a little closer at the handsome face underneath dark hair, currently dishevelled by the hand of a blonde woman fisting into it. His eyes were squeezed shut tightly, as he slammed against her. She threw her head back as he grabbed her thigh harder, increased his efforts. Her moans didn't sound real, even to his ears, but Jack Robinson didn't care. Nobody would expect a woman of her occupation to genuinely enjoy physical relations. He glanced at her briefly, then shut his eyes again, let his body take over. He could hear his blood pound in his ears. The Inspector tried not to think of Phryne, while his groans washed over the dark cobbles. He just needed to get done here, go home, take a bath and crawl into her bed and things would be alright. Nell's hand grabbing painfully at his hair in something resembling ecstasy, brought him back to the here and now and the cold creeping underneath his skin, while his body started to respond to the nearness of a woman that was very much not Phryne. His traitorous body.

He hated right now to have approached _her_ of all people. Dot's sister. It was laughable and embarrassing. But he trusted her more than any of the other girls to be able to keep her mouth shut, once this was over. The Inspector really didn't want this incident to make the rounds. Nell squirmed in his arms, pretending to get close to her climax and Jack held on tight, slamming between her legs another time, a groan escaping his throat, that was only half-acted as he thought of his wife. It drowned out quiet footsteps. The blade of a knife flashed in the moonlight, the world held it's breath.

“Drop it,” Phryne's cold voice cut through the night. Jack froze, mid-thrust, then drew cold air into his stinging lungs, before gently setting Nell back to her feet and turning around. The killer standing behind him was currently letting his arm sink slowly. Then the steel of his knife clattered over the cobbles. Jack avoided looking at Phryne, who was holding a golden gun to the guy's head with a pleasant smile on her lips, as he reached out and pulled the dark mask away.

“Darius Johnson! Who would have thought?” Jack stated dryly.

He was still fishing the cuffs from his belt, trying to not look at either woman, when two policemen in dark uniforms came running around the corner.

“Collins, Jones, over here. What the heck happened to you sticking around?”

“Sorry, Sir,” Constable Collins gasped. “There was a suspect sneaking around and we chased after him.”

“So, since it wasn't 'The Butcher', I assume you at least found another dangerous criminal?” Inspector Robinson asked, his brows raised. A faint grin ghosted over Johnson's face, that evaporated quickly, when Phryne took the safety off her pistol, letting him know she considered him moving a very bad idea.

The two Constables looked at each other with some embarrassment.

“Well?” Jack asked, casually, while applying handcuffs to the unresisting serial-killer.

“It was only Trudy Plywood, Sir. She was trying to rob a drunken guy a street over though.”

“Well I am very glad that he got to keep his three pounds, while I was almost stabbed in the back,” the Inspector stated, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Jack,” Phryne whispered under her breath, rolling her eyes.

The DI knew it wasn't really their fault. He should have taken more people. But truth be told, he hadn't wanted to be seen by half of City South pretending to have sex with a prostitute. It was embarrassing enough that his wife and two of his most trusted men had witnessed this spectacle. Besides said prostitute of course, who had lost interest in the scene and was now fixing her sparse clothing.

Nell looked tired. Near death-experiences were never very pleasant, even though “The Butcher” had targeted only punters, while leaving the girls behind alive with men bleeding to death on top of them. It wasn't a great ending to anyone's night and Jack was relieved that it was over; even more that there was no knife sticking in his back. But what a long day it had been.

“Get him to the Station,” the Inspector ordered, resisting the urge to tidy up his dishevelled clothing till the quiet man had been dragged off by the Constables.

“Would you like a ride home?” he asked Nell, who was still standing in silence. Now she smiled.

“Thank you, but that's not necessary. I know the area quite well, Inspector Robinson.”

She winked at him in a way that made clear that she had already brushed off the experience. Something told him, it would take him a little longer to achieve this.

“Goodnight then,” Phryne called after her happily.

“Goodnight,” Jack parroted and Nell turned, waving.

She walked off with swaying hips into the moonlight leaving behind Inspector and Mrs. Robinson in utter silence. When Jack turned to finally look at his wife, she had just slipped her pistol back into her pocket and reached out a hand to brush his hair back into place.

“There,” she smiled. Jack realised that he was standing in front of Phryne with his shirt crumpled and smelling of cheap perfume. Nevertheless he could not bring himself to regret having asked her along for this dangerous experiment in police work.

“Thank you,” he said, meaning a lot more than fixing his hair.

“Any time, Inspector,” she grinned, taking his hand and dragging him to where her Hispano was parked in a dark corner three streets down.

“You were quite convincing,” she grinned, as she pulled out onto the street. The cool night wind cooled Jack's still flushed cheeks.

“I didn't have much choice, Miss Fisher,” he explained quietly. She glanced at him, briefly laying her hand on his knee, before she returned it to the steering wheel.

“I know that, Jack.”

The Inspector stared ahead, wondering if he should tell her what was on his mind. He felt dirty. Not because Nell was a lady of the night, but because she wasn't Phryne. And because even the most dedicated of husbands couldn't stay completely unaffected by being wrapped in a woman's legs, grinding his hips against hers. Miss Fisher was too good a detective and too good a wife to not have noticed that. He still pondered this, when they arrived home. While the detectives slipped up the dark stairs, trying not to wake Mr. Butler or Jane, he made a decision. He would have to talk to her before any lingering guilt or suspicion could cause damage and pain. But when he stepped into her bedroom, intent on following through, he found himself being grabbed and spun, his back hitting the door, before Phryne launched onto his neck. This time the groan was very real.

“Phryne,” he managed to whisper, his head already swimming.

“Yes, Jack?”

Her hand trailed up the inside of his pants leg and he knew if he let her continue, things would spin out of control quickly. He gently grabbed her wrist, stilling her.

“We need to talk.”

Phryne rolled up her eyes in mock annoyance, but took a step backwards.

“If you would like to tell me that you are feeling guilty, I know that,” she smiled. “And also, that you started to enjoy yourself a little, back there.”

In amused embarrassment, Jack ran his free hand over his face.

“I wouldn't exactly describe it as enjoyment, Miss Fisher.”

“Let's call a spade a spade, Jack. You're body was getting excited by a compromising position with an attractive woman. Stranger things have happened.”

She looked up at him, her eyes glittering with humour. Jack was still wondering if it could really be this easy, when he felt himself being dragged into a passionate kiss. He gave in for a moment, allowed himself to fall into her touch. But it wasn't quite right.

“Phryne?”

She retreated, sighing.

“You know, Jack, I had to watch my husband having sex all evening,” she grinned mischievously. “And I would like to do this now from a much closer position, if you don't mind.”

She didn't mention that while Jack's display hadn't left her completely cold, it had also woken a smidgen of jealousy. Together with the adrenaline and fear, when she had noticed that the killer had almost slipped past her, with the other policemen gone and Jack seemingly oblivious, those emotions mixed into the intense urge to feel him close.

He smiled at her wryly, then pulled her into his arms.

“I was just trying to point out that I do need a bath first. God knows, what I stood in in this alley.”

She looked at him, understanding. Then a grin spread over her face, while her hand slipped over the fabric of his trousers, drawing a low growl from him.

“I think that can be arranged, Inspector.”

Before he had a chance to kiss her again, she had twirled on her heels and left to fill the tub. Jack stayed where he was, leaning against the supporting door at his back, his eyes following her across the room. It was almost two in the morning as his watch told him, and his limbs felt like lead, yet he was too strung up to even consider getting rest at this stage. Sleep never came easily after a nasty case. While DI Robinson happened to not feel too much sympathy for punters in general, the fact that five of them had died within three weeks, leaving five traumatized ladies behind, had called for some drastic actions. Nevertheless it had been a risky trick they had played and the Inspector could still feel the tension in his muscles.

“Are you coming, Jack?” a sweet voice asked, and he realised that his eyes had fallen shut, with his heavy head still leaning against the door. He pried them open with some effort and found that Phryne's clothes had disappeared. Obviously she was intent on joining him in the tub. Jack couldn't help but smile. Coming home to his wife, or rather coming home _with_ _Phryne_ after a long day like this, instead of to cold sheets and a book that failed to distract him, was still something he was getting used to. But it was beautiful.

“Jack?” she repeated grinning, while she slipped into the hot water.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, disposing of his clothes. He made a mental note to try and sneak them into the washing machine in the morning, before either Mr. Butler or Mrs. Collins could pick up on their suspicious state. He had been accused of cheating on Phryne once before by a furious Mac and had no desire to repeat that experience.

When he finally joined Phryne in the tub, she had leaned back with her eyes closed. The rising steam smelled faintly of lavender, stirring up fond memories which did not change the fact, that there was little room for the Inspector to sit. Pulling his knees to his chest, he tried to get comfortable.

“You know that I would have been happy to replace Nell in this little charade, Jack,” she stated casually, while shifting to give him a chance to unfold. “I did go undercover in a gentlemen's club before and was generally considered rather convincing.”

Jack smirked to himself.

“I seem to remember that vividly, Miss Fisher,” he stated, fishing for the sponge. “However, considering that I couldn't even make out Johnson's footsteps with Miss Williams distracting me, I would have probably ended with a knife in my back, had I attempted to keep my head with you in her place. So, while this wasn't a pleasant experience, I was rather glad that you had my back instead.”

While he talked, Phryne had turned and Jack ran the sponge down her spine with gentle strokes. Now she peeked back at him with a cheeky smile.

“That was a terrible pun, Inspector,” she quipped.

“Very true,” he admitted, leaning forward to kiss her wet shoulder. “But I _am_ glad that you were there to keep me from being killed.”

Completely inconsiderate of getting his chest soapy, she leaned back, snuggling into him. Jack arm's came up to wrap around her, while her head rested against his shoulder. The Inspector allowed his eyes to fall shut again, feeling the tension drain from his aching body. Time with Phryne always seemed to have this effect, which was one of the reasons, he had never been able to resist spending the evening with her after a closed case, once she had opened her door to him. Despite his, through some miracle or another, having gone from standing beside her fireplace cradling a tumbler of Whisky to wrapping her in his soapy arms in her bathtub, her presence was still calming and exciting at the same time. And while tonight he had felt that it was wrong she would have to see his attempt at amateur acting, the knowledge that she literally was watching his back had taken his fear away. Nothing bad could happen to him while Phryne was protecting him. She would chase a demon back to hell, if it should attempt to harm him.

But there was something else, that had cemented his decision to involve her. The Inspector sensed he couldn't have done what he had, without her being there. He couldn't have come home afterwards to her being in the dark about why he was smelling of another woman or even her wondering what exactly had happened in his undercover work.

And of course, keeping secrets from her was still something he couldn't seem to accomplish, as a general rule. Phryne probably even knew that one of the many reasons why he had chosen Nell Williams for the act rather than his wife was, that he wouldn't risk putting her near the receiving end of a knife. And that he definitely didn't want to die pinning her to a dirty wall, screaming. Nevertheless he couldn't help but feel a sense of shame about the whole event.

“Phryne?” he asked, getting only soft murmuring in response. She seemed to have drifted off as well. “Tonight, I-”

He didn't get any further.

“Jack, please don't. You were doing your job. And right now, you are not somewhere in a back alley with Nell, but here with me.”

She opened her eyes to look up at him, then lifted a hand from the tub to cup his cheek. Jack leaned into her wet embrace.

“I have no desire to be anywhere else,” he whispered. She smiled in response.

“I am aware of that. So stop torturing yourself.”

He nodded, wrapping his fingers over hers. So it _was_ that easy! When he returned his hand to her chest, he brushed a nipple, drawing a soft moan from her. She gently squirmed to get in the right position for his touch.

“I do think, however, that you should demonstrate what exactly you were doing back there, Inspector,” she murmured.

“I fear there was a whole lot less than I intend to do later in the night,” Jack grinned, while his hand found the sponge again.

“Is that so?” Phryne asked in mock surprise. “Please do tell.”

“There will be a very detailed demonstration, Miss Fisher,” Jack promised, starting to gently, teasingly spreading soap over her breasts, while nibbling on her neck.

“I'm looking forward to it,” Phryne whispered, her breaths picking up, as he intensified his attentions.

Inspector Robinson had always been a man of his word and so it was no surprise that he followed through on his promise.


	2. Gravity

“I don't know what you want from me, Inspector. Can I go now?”

Darius Johnson had his arms locked over his chest, exuding innocence. Jack sighed under his breath. There was really no getting through to their serial-killer. They had been in the interview room for an hour, with little to no progress. He just wouldn't admit to anything, even though he had been caught more or less with blood on his hands. Luckily rather less, as the officer was still acutely aware that said blood would have been his own. The Inspector leaned forward, folding his hands on the wooden table.

“Mr. Johnson, you were caught with your knife aimed at my back. I don't think you will leave here for quite some time. So, why don't we just get this over with?”

The man sat in defiant silence, glancing at Jack's fingers. Something akin to a grin crept onto the man's face. The Inspector shuddered, despite the stuffy warmth in the room. A desperate fly buzzed against the window, trying to escape.

“You know, I would have enjoyed killing you,” Johnson said, his voice changed completely. “You sick swine. Does your wife know that you are fucking whores, when she has her back turned?”

Jack gulped. Maybe his acting had been a little too convincing for the man's twisted brain. The mad sparkle in Johnson's eyes didn't make the Inspector feel any better. In a mixture of trying to disguise his unsettled feelings and distancing himself from the crazy killer as far as possible, Jack leaned back, locking his arms over his chest. He was contemplating if it was wise to call a Constable into the room before continuing, lest the man might try his luck again. On the other hand, they were finally making progress. Jack realised that he had unconsciously covered up his wedding ring in his movement. Something about this madman knowing about his relationship with Phryne made his skin crawl. Darius Johnson watched him with cold, glittering eyes, all but foaming from the mouth when he spoke again.

“Scoundrels of your kind is all the same. Proper and respectable in daylight and at night you sneak around in the shadows and go after your immoral, ungodly business. Your wife would spit in your face if she knew, Inspector!”

The last word was hurled with so much hate, that it took all of Jack's self-restraint to hide his flinch. To his utter annoyance he felt the urge to defend himself. But when he was about to open his mouth and explain to Johnson calmly that his marriage was none of his business, the door flew open and dumped a whirlwind, dressed in swaying layers of dark blue, into the room.

“Good morning, what did I miss?” Mrs. Robinson asked cheerfully, dropping beside Jack onto a chair.

The Inspector smiled grimly at the killer, whose eyes were madly dashing to the woman. He obviously remembered her voice vividly.

“Nothing much. Mr. Johnson, I believe you have met my wife?”

 

X

 

“Would you like a scone, Mr. Butler?” Dot asked from where she stood at the kitchen counter.

“That would be lovely, Dorothy.”

The butler briefly glanced up from his paper to look at the young woman. She had a healthy glow to her cheeks that deeply relieved him. Ever since the beginning of her pregnancy her stomach had been switching between ravenous hunger and morning sickness and today seemed to be one of the good days. Indeed, the maid was biting into her own piece of baked goods, before she even had slipped onto the chair opposite him. Dot enjoyed the quiet mornings in the kitchen with Mr. Butler, as long as they would still last. God knew what would happen with her occupation, once her belly got too big to make beds and wash blood out of blouses. Her sleuthing had already had to be limited, since her random spells of vomiting made subtlety difficult to accomplish. Despite that, Dorothy Collins was quite sure that something had happened last night, with her Mistress and Master not having returned till long after midnight and Hugh not coming home from the station until the early hours. Indeed, he was fast asleep right now - otherwise she would have already interrogated her husband. But at least that gave her time to spend a quiet morning with Mr. Butler and a second breakfast, before she needed to sort through the pantry.

“More tea, Mr. Butler?” she asked, refilling her own cup.

“Thank you, Dorothy,” the wall of paper answered. Dot smiled. The servant was rather hard to tear away from his news, she found, especially when there was horse races on, whose results he would always study before anything else. Her glance brushed over the front page and her hand stopped, causing the cup to overflow, before she managed to tear her eyes away.

“Mr. Butler?”

The sound of her voice made him drop the paper, but to his surprise, the maid snatched the leaves from his hands.

“They caught 'The Butcher'!” she exclaimed, her eyes searching for confirmation of her suspicion. “ _With a dangerous trick, the brave men of the City South Police Station have finally managed to clap the killer in iron,“_ she read aloud, then continued more quietly. _“_ _Allegedly a_ _senior officer used_ _relations with a lady of the evening to_ _lure_ _'_ _The Butcher_ _'_ _into a trap.”_

“That explains it,” Mr. Butler smiled, getting up to grab a cloth.

Dorothy  didn't look up from the article , while he patted the tea from the table top. 

“It explains what, Mr. Butler?”

The servant smiled to himself, before calmly explaining.

“I found the Inspector's suit in the washing machine this morning. My best guess would be, that he doesn't have enough experience with Make-up to realise that it needs to be brushed with laundry soap to even have the faintest chance of being removed from a white shirt.” 

With some amusement he noticed the colour on Dorothy's face darkening to a pretty shade of pink in a mixture of embarrassment and outrage as she looked up at him, her mouth agape.

“You do not actually mean to say that the Inspector has been involved with one of those... ladies?” she stuttered in shock. Mr. Butler sipped on his tea.

“I believe, our Master is very dedicated to his job, Dorothy and he would resort to desperate measures in order to catch a very dangerous murderer.”

“Miss Fisher wouldn't allow that!” Dot said loyally.

“I believe, Mrs. Robinson would not be opposed to him _pretending_ the act of intimacy with someone, if it meant saving lives,” Mr. B stated casually, picking up the papers again. “And isn't one of those ladies your sister?” 

“Do not remind me,” Dot grumbled into her cup, while draining her tea. She fought down the urge to wake up Hugh and find out right now what had happened, and instead cleared her dishes away to head into the pantry. After all she was very dedicated to her job as well and the chaos on the well stocked shelves wouldn't sort itself. Mr. Butler looked after her with a soft smile playing around his lips before returning to the article that he had spotted right when buying the newspaper.

 

X

 

“Well, I don't believe I have ever been called 'sick and twisted' by a serial killer before,” Phryne laughed, when they arrived at the door to Jack's office.

“Not something I particularly feel the urge to repeat,” her husband grumbled, but his face belied any sincerity. He felt rather satisfied with himself. Phryne's involvement had caused Johnson to finally let the last bit of self-control slip, confessing to all five murders and two more in Adelaide, before he had even arrived in Victoria. Considering this, Jack could live with the madman's unshakable conviction that he had done the deed with a prostitute, while his wife had been watching on for her own, sick amusement. The Inspector pushed the door to his office open with some vigour and froze mid-movement.

“Good morning, Jack,” said the man sitting behind his desk, glancing at him over the rims of his glasses. “Mrs. Robinson.”

George Sanderson nodded at Phryne, who was torn between fight and flight. Not that she was scared of the Chief Commissioner as such, but considering the quick and tragic end of Rosie's second attempt at matrimony, she could imagine that he hadn't learned the news of Jack's wedding with much enjoyment. And his influence on her  husband's career was sadly considerable. 

“I better leave you to it,” she whispered, but Jack's former father-in-law had apprehended this and urged her with a wave of the hand to enter. 

“Please do stay. I would like a word with the both of you,” he said, his voice unreadable. Like two school children, having been caught hiding frogs in the headmistress' desk, they sat down, waiting for their scolding. Sanderson took his glasses off, rubbing at them with a big handkerchief. 

“I assume you know, why I am here?”

“Johnson just gave me a full confession,” the Inspector said, lifting his chin in defiance. His former father-in-law looked at him for a moment, while his forehead creased up in anger. 

“What on earth were you thinking, Jack?”

He slammed down the mornings paper so hard that it caused some sheets to float off the desk. Nobody dared pick them up. You could have heard a needle drop in the thick silence. Jack's thoughts were racing. He knew he had gone a step too far in the last night. Not only involving Phryne but he had endangered all of them. His embarrassment and longing to take the killer down had gotten the better of his common sense. But surely the results spoke for themselves all the same.

“We caught him, George, that is all that matters,” he said calmly. “Without any further bloodshed.”

“Have you read the papers, Jack? They are implying that you were intimate with a harlot to lure Johnson out of the shadows.”

Jack and Phryne looked at each other.

“I can assure you, that was not the case,” Inspector Robinson finally said stiffly.

Sanderson rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Of course not. But you can't be oblivious to what light that throws onto this Station? And me?”

Jack nodded, his jaw clenched. Obviously even divorce and remarriage could not dissolve his relationship with Sanderson in the eyes of the public. Politics! How he despised them.

“I will not even start on the fact that you endangered your life,” Sanderson said, his anger picking up again. Jack felt the need to hang his head in shame, but kept it stubbornly up, glittering at the Chief Commissioner.

“I was well protected,” he ground out.

Phryne looked from one man to the other. She had witnessed the case in which Jack had been forced to clear George's name from a murder investigation, defying half the city in the process. She also remembered vividly George Sanderson's reaction to Jack's disappearance, when he had been kidnapped by a gangster family. No matter how much they bickered, those two men still cared about each other.

“By your wife, who is a civilian and not a police officer, if I may remind you!” Sanderson spat in annoyance. “She has no business in a police action.”

Phryne was about to open her mouth to defend her involvement, when she found herself being addressed by the Commissioner directly.

“It was bad enough, when you were just a nosy lady detective. But now that you are married to a police officer, things will change.”

“George, I can-”

“I will not discuss this, Jack. You can simply not involve your civilian wife into your investigations. God knows, I cut you plenty of slack over time, but this ends now!”

The couple looked at each other in horror. Of course they knew that Sanderson had a point. They had muddled their way through plenty of rules. But they were good at what they did together and the idea of having to stop their partnership tightened both their throats. Sanderson watched them over his glasses, plotting something underneath his white hair. The clock ticked into the silence.

“We cannot afford a scandal involving you, Jack. Not right now,” he finally stated, somewhat calmer, turning the newspaper. “I assume you remember Elaine Browning?” 

Jack leaned back in his chair. He had a faint idea where this was heading.

“I hardly ever forget people who have attempted to kill me.” 

“And God knows, you need some memory for that,” Phryne quipped, unable to help herself.

“Considering your recent habit to stand in the way of notorious murderers, I would have to agree with your wife there,” George pointed out, with the hint of a smile on his lips. 

“If I remember correctly, two of those instances where in protection of your daughter,” Jack gave back.

“So they were.”

Now the smile on Sanderson's lips was undeniable.

“And of course there was the time when you threw yourself heroically at an armed killer to protect your own daughter,” Phryne stated casually. Both men looked at her in astonishment. Jack gulped. He had never told her about Jane being in danger that day.

“I don't believe you would have been informed of that particular incident, Georgey,” Phryne smiled. “It happened outside of Melbourne and you were still on your way back to Australia. But believe me if I say, it was a close cut.” 

Jack lifted his hands in surrender, before Sanderson could come up with anecdotes of his own on his various almost demises.

“What about Elaine Browning?” he asked loudly. Sanderson cleared his throat, the glitter in his eyes vanishing.

“As you are probably aware, she is due to be hanged next week, Jack. There is still a variety of Browning supporters in this city, some of them rather influential and they are trying to prevent this from happening. If your name is disgraced, she could walk. And her father with her.”

Phryne's hand reached for Jack's and found it balled up into a fist. His kidnapping was still a sore spot that neither of them had gotten quite over and the idea that his tormentors could breath fresh air again, was as scary as it was infuriating.

“Surely Jack's 'disgrace' wouldn't have that much influence,” Phryne cut in. “She will hang for the murder she committed after all.” 

“Which Jack investigated,” Sanderson pointed out. “The conviction that we got the right person hanging, stands and falls with Inspector Robinson's credibility. So it is amazingly bad timing right now to be caught entangled with prostitutes in the back alleys by the newspapers.” 

Jack considered briefly to point out that he had been fully dressed, acting out a love scene with a woman he had not the slightest romantic interest  in, in an attempt to  lure a serial-killer out of hiding. But  sadly,  he could see the point George Sanderson was making. 

“So what do you propose I do?” he asked, recognising a certain expression in his former father-in-law's eyes. 

“I want both of you to disappear for a while,” Sanderson stated, leaning his elbows onto the desk. “In fact, I would like you to do a job for me.” 

“Didn't you just say that my civilian wife had no place in any police action?” Jack asked, his brows knitting. Sanderson tipped his head as if in thought.

“I believe we could come to some form of arrangement for the future, if you do solve this case for me.” 

He leaned back, smiling.

“Are you offering me an official partnership with the police force, Georgey?”

A brief shadow ghosted over the Commissioner's face at this strange nickname, their one shared case had earned him.

“You could put it like that, Mrs. Robinson. _If_ you prove successful in the appointment I have picked for you.” 

“What's the catch?” Jack asked. He had known George Sanderson for a very long time. The Commissioner smiled vaguely, folding his hands.

“Your appointment will require you to move to Collingwood.”


	3. Saturn

Inspector Robinson was the first to resurface from the breathless silence that had spread over his office.

“You must be joking!?” 

Commissioner Sanderson, who had watched him, leaned back in his chair and shook his head.

“I am, as it so happens, completely serious. It is an undercover appointment and you will have to fully involve yourself. I'm sorry if that meddles with your comfortable lifestyle.”

Jack straightened his back, ready to defy his ex-father-in-law.

“We are not your puppets, George!”

“What exactly is this job about?” Phryne asked, recovering from her initial shock.

Sanderson glanced at her. She was strangely pale, but seemed curious nevertheless.

“The trade in sly grog in this city has significantly picked up over the last half year.”

Jack opened his mouth, but George talked right over him.

“And while some of that is likely due to the recession, there are hints that it's not all bootleg. In fact, evidence points towards a, let's say grog-empire being built somewhere in Collingwood. We have done raids, interrogated pub-owners and minor criminals, but with no results. Nobody is spilling the beans on where it's coming from and who is making it. But there is a variety of illegal alcoholic beverages being produced and sold right in my city.” 

“And what are we supposed to do about it?” Phryne asked sarcastically. She was used to a lot more exciting things than sly grog, but that was not what was bothering her. “Rip illegal bottles from old ladies hands?”

Sanderson shifted his full attention to her.

“I want you to go in there and find the rat's nest. They must be somewhere there, in some basement, some falling down cottage. They are hiding. As soon as they see a badge or a uniform they vanish like cockroaches in the light. I have the boot to flatten them, but first I need to find them. And that is where you come in.” 

Jack's glance brushed over Phryne's pale cheeks. He could only imagine what was happening in her head. Collingwood of all places!

„Surely with all the officers of Melbourne at your disposal, you don't need a homicide detective for that, George. There is no shortage of actual murder to be solved in this city,” he protested. 

Sanderson sighed, fishing a photograph from his pocket and shoving it over the table.

The Inspector picked it up, staring at the obviously dead face of a young man. 

“Simon Barner,” Sanderson stated casually. “One of three young men who died of alcohol poisoning after consumption of illegal grog in the last month. You want murder, Jack? Whoever is producing this crap, is killing people.” 

Inspector Robinson realised  that  he was running out of steam. Trying to figure out what to do, he rubbed his hand over his lips. He knew he couldn't get out of this, but dragging Phryne into  it seemed an incredibly bad idea. There were too many of her shadows lurking in Collingwood for her. His wife had spent most of her childhood in the place and few of those memories were happy ones. Returning there, living the life she had escaped, even for a pretense... no. 

“I'll go,” he said. “But Phryne stays out of this.”

He didn't dare look at his wife right now. Explaining to Sanderson why he didn't want her on this job was out of the question, but Phryne knew his reasons without a doubt and she didn't like being told what to do. But to his surprise, she didn't protest, instead picking up the photograph, looking at the young man. Sanderson took his glasses off.

“I'm sorry, Jack. But that is not the deal. I need you both to go undercover as a married couple. A single, middle aged man moving into the neighbourhood is more than suspicious. Those people aren't stupid, far from it in fact.”

Jack opened his mouth, ready to fight this to the bone, but to his surprise, Phryne was faster. She sounded calm, collected, if still upset.

“We will do it.”

Her husband looked at her, trying to convince her with his eyes that this wasn't right, but she gave him a thin smile that managed to shut him up.

“But I will hold you to this partnership, Georgey,” Phryne stated, getting to her feet and handing the photograph back to the Commissioner.

Sanderson took it, then  pulled himself up , extending his hand. Phryne's gloved fingers wrapped around his.

“Of course, Mrs. Robinson. When I get results.”

“You wouldn't have asked us, if you didn't expect results. Now please excuse me, it seems I have packing to do.”

Phryne flashed Jack a grin that was lacking any sincerity and left the two policemen for silence.

Jack rubbed his palms over his face, finding George watching him intently when he looked up.

“I hope you are aware that you just opened Pandora's box?”

A half smile on the older man's face answered his question.

“I am rather counting on it,” the Commissioner stated, storing the picture in his pocket. “And despite what you are currently inclined to think, Jack, this is not a punishment for your wedding with Miss Fisher. Even though I will admit, that I am not thrilled.”

“The thought had crossed my mind,” Jack quipped.

Sanderson was back to staring at him with deep sincerity.

“Jack, I am sending you in there, because you are a damn good policeman and because I trust you. I need to dig out this new grog baron before he gets a footing in Melbourne. If we let new people get away with the same crimes, we have brought down the Brownings for nothing.” 

The Inspector nodded grimly, surrendering to his fate.

“How long?”

“As long as it takes.”

George pushed a closed folder towards the DI, who took it, but didn't open the lid.

“All the details are in there. Your fake papers, your contacts, your address. I'll stay far, far away from you, while this is happening.”

“Of course.”

Jack didn't look up, while Sanderson got to his feet, heading towards the door.

“What about “The Butcher” and Elaine Browning?” the Inspector asked, just when George was about to leave. His former father-in-law turned, a certain sparkle reappearing in his eyes.

“Don't worry, I will take care of things.” 

The Inspector knew that he would  \-  it didn 't reassure him in the slightest. 

 

X

 

 

“So, I'm afraid, we will be gone for a while,” Phryne Robinson said with a wry smile, looking at her daughter, who was chewing her lip.

“What is this about?” Dot asked. Her Mistress shrugged her shoulders. “I do not know much detail yet, and even if I did, I couldn't tell you.”

“So, it's all secretive then?” Bert asked, from where he was standing with a cup of coffee in one and a biscuit in the other.

“Nicely spotted, Bert,” Phryne grinned, without turning around. Again her eyes locked on Jane, who was utterly silent. The girl was thinking hard.

“But...” she finally uttered, then closed her mouth again. She had wanted to ask who would play chess with her. Since discovering that they shared an interest, Jack had brought out the board several nights a week for a game or two after dinner, while Phryne usually loitered in a suspiciously close chair, hiding behind an alibi book and threw in random comments and suggestions that were as fun as they were completely uncalled for. Jane enjoyed those quiet nights with her foster parents more than she would ever have cared to admit. The idea of them stopping didn't sit well with her. But then again, she wasn't a child anymore and she had picked herself two dedicated detectives for parents. Surely she could deal.

“Jane?”

She looked up to realise that Phryne's eyes were still glued to her, obviously waiting for a reaction so she forced herself to smile.

“Sounds like you are going to have fun,” she said. Her mother's hand fished for hers, holding her hand over the table.

“We are going to be back soon,” she promised. “And I expect everything to go on as it normally would,” Mrs. Robinson added louder, for everybody to hear. “Mr. Butler and Dot will make sure you are clothed and fed and going to school. No excuses.”

Jane nodded bravely.

“Cec, Bert, I will need you to run some errands for me this afternoon. And I will need your help for a suitable wardrobe, Dot. I'm afraid, it has been a few years since I've been familiar with the fashion there.”

Phryne frowned. She really did not look forward to this. It wasn't so much the lack of comfort that she feared, even though the loss of her silk sheets and expensive Scotch were certainly drawbacks. It was the memories lurking in Collingwood, that really scared her. She snapped out of it, realising that Jane had turned the tables on her. The girl was watching her, looking as if she could read her mind. She smiled thinly and pressed her hand, half-heartedly listening to Dot's vague speculations on what she needed. She would be fine. Jack was coming with her. She would be absolutely fine. Phryne swallowed hard, when she remembered, that she had lost her ability to lie to herself convincingly. 

 

X

 

A trail of sunlight illuminated her dark hair, giving her the appearance of wearing a halo. She didn't turn when he entered. The young man stepped into the room, but stopped dead in the middle. Still the woman did not move. Only her changed breathing suggested, that she had noticed his arrival.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. It wasn't cold, not angry, just a question.

“I am paying you a visit.”

She turned away from the window, a small smile on her lips, then stepped towards him, raising her hand to run it over his cheek.

“That is rather silly of you,” she said. He shrugged. The realisation how much thinner she had become since the last time he had seen her, cut through his stomach like a hot knife. What had the bastard done to her? But he would pay, the young man swore to himself. There was hell to pay and he would make sure every single shilling would be collected.

 

X

 

“You are home early,” Phryne smiled, when she heard the bedroom door open quietly. Jack let go a frustrated breath. His wife was impossible to sneak up on. He had disturbed her though, he realised with a start. She turned on the stool in front of her dressing table.

“You look... quite different,” Jack stated carefully.

“I'm trying the plain look, cheap make-up. Rather ghastly,” Phryne explained, returning to applying some sort of blusher.

“You know, most people probably can't tell the cost of your make-up just from looking at you,” the Inspector pointed out, sitting down at the edge of the bed. “Why don't you just transfer some of your usual things into cheap pots?”

“I would know, Jack. And if I am to fool people as a plain woman, I will have to play my part properly. French Rouge won't do the trick.”

The Inspector contemplated this for a while, watching her apply and rub off make-up in silence. She was right, of course. It would take some acting ability for Miss Fisher to pull off being a poor working class woman. If Sanderson had taken into account that the glamour she radiated went far beyond her expensive dresses and bright lipsticks? Probably not. He didn't know how Phryne Fisher looked with dishevelled hair and missing make-up, the wrinkles of her pillow impressed in her skin, thirty seconds after waking. He had never seen her drenched from the rain or shivering in an intense moment of passion. Jack had. Phryne had many faces and not a single one of them was plain. He woke from his thoughts, when she repeated her question.

“So, who am I, Jack?”

The Inspector cleared his throat.

“I didn't know that you are playing an amnesic plain woman, Miss Fisher.”

Phryne rolled her eyes at him, snatching the folder from his lap.

“I assume this holds our secret identities?” she said, flicking through the pages, till she found the desired information. Jack watched the frown on her face in amusement.

“That's hardly fair, Jack.” She closed the papers with a disappointing little thud and put it down onto her dressing table.

“You get to keep your name? And I am to be 'Fanny'?”

Jack slipped to his feet and stepped behind her, laying his hands onto her shoulders.

“I would recommend a written complaint to your parents, Miss Fisher. There might be about two Phryne's in the whole of Melbourne, while Jack is about as special as loaf of bread. And sadly there aren't many glamorous yet common names that are close enough to not turn a little slip of the tongue into a disaster.” 

He kissed her on the hair, while Phryne pulled her lips into a pout. She had to grumpily admit that he was right. She picked up the papers again.

“So we have been married for ten years, had to sell our house in Richmond after you lost your job. Unable to keep any of our children alive. Your former father-in-law seems determined to pretend you are a failure, Jack,” she stated casually.

“Or possibly, he is just trying to explain, why we might not quite fit into the environment and still were desperate enough to move to Collingwood” the Inspector stated casually, searching for something in his pocket.

“You probably should avoid quoting Shakespeare all the same, Jack,” Phryne teased.

“I will remember to not spontaneously burst into Hamlet, Miss Fisher,” the Inspector gave back, finally founding what he had been looking for.

“I picked this up on the way home,” he said, extending his hand. Phryne stared at it for a moment, recognition dawning on her face.

“You're right. It would be rather silly to wear those in Collingwood,” she admitted, looking at the two rings that never left her hands.

“In the middle of a recession, nevertheless” Jack urged gently. “Desperation makes people do stupid things and we don't want attention.”

Phryne nodded, battling with herself. The idea of taking off her engagement ring or wedding band met a lot of inner resistance. But Jack had a point. Running through Collingwood with diamonds and gold on her fingers would be more than stupid and the chance of 'losing them' the one or other way, was great. She couldn't risk it. Nevertheless her throat was tight, when she slipped them off her fingers with some effort. She looked up to Jack, who was contemplating his own wedding band, obviously with similar thoughts.

“Come on, Inspector, it's just a symbol,” she smiled, opening a small drawer. Jack nodded and swiftly slipped the ring off, before he could change his mind. He felt the cold that he had almost forgotten about, when air brushed over the spot of suddenly bare skin. Gently he laid his band around Phryne's in the red satin lining, and threw one last look, before she locked the drawer.

“Right,” his wife said, staring at the simple silver band he had bought her as a replacement. It looked a little tattered, probably likely for a cheap wedding ring that had been worn for a decade. Jack, noticing her hesitance, took her hand, spinning her around to face him and smiled.

“Will you be my wife, Mrs. Turner?”

“I believe it is a decade too late to ask that, Jack.”

He grinned, slipping the band over her waiting finger.

“You know, Fanny Turner might have actually sworn me obedience,” the Inspector grinned, leaning down to kiss his wife.

“You wish, Jack.”

Their lips met and for a moment, their worries melted away. When Jack resurfaced, he looked at her flushed face, still covered in unusual make-up, realising that it didn't matter at all. She was still his Phryne and still absolutely breathtaking.

“No,” he whispered, brushing a strand of her hair from her face without moving far enough to stop feeling her breath on his skin. “I really hope she didn't.”


	4. Starlight

 

It was depressing. That was the first thing Jack thought, when the small workers cottages started to frame the streets. Of course, his occupation had occasionally led him to this part of Collingwood before and he had also spent a little while living in Abbotsford. Yet, he couldn't remember ever looking at it with the same eyes as he did right now. They might have been Phryne's eyes, he realised. His wife had gone utterly silent in the last five minutes, while they sat in the back of the taxi cab, with Bert driving and Cec happily babbling on about something or other. In fact, Phryne was currently looking far into the past. It was hard to explain to anyone, even Jack, but not all the memories that tied her to this place were horrible ones. She remembered playing in those streets with her sister and numerous other children, who she had mostly gone out of touch with, either after the tragedy or latest after her parents had dragged her to England and turned her into a spoiled rich girl. Of course, all of them would look at her with suspicion nowadays. If they were still alive. Collingwood didn't tend to present an overly long lifespan to the people that didn't make it out. Gangs and Crime were just a small part of it. Mostly, people worked their fingers to the bone inside the factories that had sprouted like mushrooms over the last decades and then died either in unfortunate accidents or simply because their underfed and overworked bodies didn't like the treatment and just went on strike eventually. Then they succumbed to one of the numerous diseases and the pollution hanging over this part of the city like a blanket. Or they drowned their hopes and sorrows in alcohol, forgetting that alcohol preserved. Phryne remembered vividly the first time she had seen her father drunk. She also remembered the sound his fist made when it hit the wall. Eventually it hadn't been the wall anymore, but her mother. And then herself. It had never been Janey however, she had made sure of that. And then, she, the brave guardian of her little sister had failed, the one time she would have really been needed. Completely and utterly failed.

Phryne was woken from her dark thoughts by the cab stopping. She blinked the tears away, to look at a small cottage, ducked between a row of. similar looking ones.

“That's it, Miss,” Bert prompted, having the decency to look apologetic. Phryne managed a smile.

“Well, here we go then.”

With fake enthusiasm she climbed out of the car, accepting her battered  suit case from  Cec 's hands.  Jack had jumped down on the other side, paying Bert as a show for the neighbours. When he looked at her, she realised that he was  worried. He  needn't be.  She would be just fine. Phryne swallowed the lump in her throat and  allowed Jack to take her hand, while they wandered towards their new home. 

“Well it's not as terrible as I feared,” Phryne lied.

“I'm sorry,” was all the answer she got. She pressed her husbands hand.

“It's not your fault.”

She wasn't quite sure anymore if they were Mr. and Mrs. Turner or Robinson right now, but it didn't really matter. Their emotions, if moving here from St. Kilda or only Richmond would be the same. With the slight difference that Phryne had a chance to flee back to her lovely big house full of people soon, while poor Fanny would have to face a future in this dreadful place. But first, both of them needed to find the bad guys.

The house was simple, probably in good repair for Collingwood standards, the wooden floor wasn't falling apart and the mould crawling over the walls minimal. They stood in the kitchen, as soon as they walked through the door. It was just as cold as outside and Jack made a mental note to look for firewood as soon as possible. For the moment however, he opened a spiderweb-covered window, trying to get rid of the smell.

“What a stench,” he grumbled to nobody in particular, under his breath.

“Leather,” Phryne answered. “They ran out of wood, so they are burning the rubbish from the factories. Collingwood coke.”

She looked like she was drifting in another world, he noticed with some worry. And they had only just arrived. He nodded grimly then opened one of the two doors in the back wall. The bedroom. If you could call the tiny room that. Jack had never in his life longed so much for his own aquamarine sanctuary in their St. Kilda home. No matter how many nights he spent in other places, on rooftops or in country estates, even Phryne's bedroom – nothing could quite beat the big, soft bed Miss Fisher had chosen for him when he had moved into her house. Not that it was of any importance, he realised. He would follow her anywhere she went, even to hell. Or this place. A moment longer he stared wordlessly at the dusty, grey sheets, that the last occupants seemingly couldn't be bothered to take with them, then let go of his wives hand and walked to the other side, silently starting to peel them off. Phryne seemed to snap out of whatever dream she had been floating in.

“What are you doing, Jack?”

“I'm stripping the bed.”

“I'm afraid, we will have to sleep in that tonight, Jack,” she said, shuddering.

“My thoughts exactly,” he smiled, walking past her and pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. “And I'd rather not sleep in this,” he added, dropping the threadbare cotton at their feet. “I think the only solution for this might be burning.”

Phryne grinned.

“Well that would solve the problem how we get the oven fired up,” she grinned.

“I believe,” Jack said, from the kitchen, where his head was sticking in his suitcase, retrieving the plain but clean cotton sheets, Mrs. Collins had had the presence of mind to pack, God bless her soul, “there should be some firewood somewhere around. According to our little information file, we should be provided for, for a day or two at least.”

“Well I am glad, they thought that far at least,” Phryne stated dryly, watching her husband in amusement. She had never actually seen him do housework before. Of course, she was aware that he had lived for several years on his own, with no servants to provide for him and she had also seen the occasional tinkering. While in her house he had always rather avoided to rely too much on Mr. Butler's or Dot's help, he still had taken the changes in his lifestyle in his stride, probably somewhere deep down enjoying the luxury of not having to make his own bed before heading out for a long working day in the early hours of the morning or wash the blood out of his shirts himself after coming home late at night. And yet, here he was, making their bed. It was something oddly intimate and she found that she was enjoying the view. But she was also freezing and the air coming in from the outside really didn't help the stench. With a somewhat lighter heart, she returned to the kitchen to close the window. A fat spider looked at her somewhat confused. Phryne smiled at it, before going to inspect the destination the second door opened to. It led to a tiny backyard, including a small washhouse and something that looked suspiciously like an outdoor toilet.

“Great,” Phryne grimaced. There was also some wood though, neatly stacked up against the back wall. She grabbed some, hugging it to her chest, whilst briefly wondering about her clothes, before she remembered the blue cotton dress that was about as flattering as the make-up she had brought in the end. She had forgotten about all of this and for good reason.

When she glanced into the bedroom, Jack was already busy stacking the few clothes they had brought into the single cabinet. She didn't protest that he would get dust onto her dresses. You might be able to take a girl out of Collingwood, but you couldn't really take Collingwood out of a girl. She didn't care about dust all that much. In fact, Jack's attempts to make this something resembling a home for them, was rather touching. Phryne found herself wondering how life would have turned out if she had stayed here, lived a life in this area, maybe ran into a young Constable someday, who had happened to wander down the wrong street from Richmond. Could Jack have fallen in love with her, had she worn crude shoes and an old cotton dress? Had she seen more than a bloody copper in him? She was woken from her thoughts by a kiss to her hair, realising that she was staring into the still cold oven, where she had unconsciously stacked pieces of wood onto cold ashes.

“You wouldn't happen to have some matches on you, Inspector?”

“Surprisingly I do. I feared I wouldn't get through this appointment without the occasional cigarette,” Jack quipped, holding out a small book. “However, it might be advisable to not call me Inspector around here, Miss Fisher.”

“Very well, Inspector,” Phryne grinned, striking a match and, on the second attempt, managing to get a flame going. She pulled herself to her feet, looking around.

“So, what are we going to do with the rest of the day?” she asked, letting her eyes run over the interior of the place. Cleaning definitely came to mind. In fact, she really longed for a bath right now, but her childhood memories and the thought of the washhouse outside, let the urge evaporate quickly. She found Jack looking at her with dark eyes.

“You know, we are actually alone,” he said quietly. His wife was stunned for a moment. It hadn't occurred to her that there might be an upside to this. However, Jack seemed to have given it some thought. She smiled.

His hand came up to run through her hair, before he kissed her, gently, longingly.

“So, this is why you made the bed, Jack?” she asked with a cheeky grin, when they resurfaced. He shook his head, without tearing his eyes from her.

“No matter in what terrible a place we are, I will never let my wife sleep in a dirty bed.”

It wasn't poetry, it wasn't even particularly romantic, but the truth in his eyes made her toes tingle all the same. She kissed him again with a little more passion, her hands running over familiar curves covered in unfamiliar fabric. She wanted to crawl into him, escape the cold that only slowly gave way to the heat emanating from the wood-burning stove, her memories and the mould and dust. Jack's arms wrapped around her, as if he had the same thought. His body was her armour against Collingwood and all that was lurking in the shadows here. So she let him hold her, pick her up and carry her to the old, squeaky iron bed with soft cotton sheets that smelled of home and make love to her in the dusty light of the grey afternoon hanging over the city. And even though it wasn't at all where she wanted to be in the world, it was alright. Nothing could ever be really wrong, with Jack's arms around her.

 

X

 

Mr. Butler realised too late that he had bought too many groceries for dinner. It had taken him some time to get accustomed to the ever growing household of Miss Fisher and now he felt strangely bereft of his duties. He had spent the day tidying up both bedrooms, removing the  dirty sheets to the washing machine, sorting his Mistress' shoes into the cabinet and ironing the  Inspector's socks.  Now there was little more to do than control Jane 's homework and he had a fair suspicion that Dorothy might have already taken care of it. 

In defiance he decided to cut up all the vegetables. He would bring the Collins some stew over once it was done, it would save Dorothy the trouble of cooking tonight. While chopping the celery, he noticed that the house was decidedly quiet. He found it rather disturbing. However, he managed to fry off the meat and bring the stew to the boil, before he succumbed to the urge to go looking for Jane. On the way through the dining room he spotted a candle holder that was starting to turn a little black around the edges. So there was his evening occupation. Now he only needed to find himself something to do for the rest of the week.

Jane was sitting with her back to him and for a moment, Tobias Butler considered leaving her alone. She radiated a certain unwillingness to be spoken to that was hard to overcome, especially for someone who was with all his heart dedicated to being discretion itself. But there was also something in his mind that told him she was upset and he was not only a butler, he also flattered himself being a part of this family and he had been entrusted with the girl's well being. Jane didn't look up from where she was staring at the chessboard, when he stepped beside her. As if to prove that she wasn't bored, she moved a black pawn over the field.

“Would you like a playing partner, Miss Jane?” Tobias asked politely.

Jane shook her head.

“Don't worry, Mr. B. I can keep myself occupied.”

When she looked up at him with a small and completely insincere smile, she reminded him a lot of her mother. He battled with himself for a moment, then sat down, despite the etiquette that should have kept his intrusion at bay.

“I have no doubt about that, but then chess is not a game to be playing alone. It's hard to outsmart oneself,” he stated with a wise smile.

Jane finally looked at him, then, after a  moment's hesitance  she  started to set the figurines back to their position. Mr. Butler watched her in silence. 

“I just miss them,” she said, to noone in particular. “And they have only just gone.”

“I'm sure, they miss you too, Miss Jane,” Mr. Butler said, “and you are not alone.”

The teenager nodded, opening the game. They played until it got dark outside and the stew had almost boiled to mush. Mr. Butler realised that he was neglecting his duties but then he guessed  that his Mistress preferred Jane's sanity to perfectly polished candlesticks any day. 

 

X

 

It was dark by the time, Phryne awoke. The fire had burned down since they had fallen asleep, as a brief adventure of one arm from under the sheet told her. But underneath the cover it was pleasantly warm and so she delayed getting up to throw some logs in the oven and possibly find some dinner. Jack was still asleep, his soft breathing telling her that he was dreaming. Maybe of home. She sighed, letting her head sink back onto the flat pillow. Her husband seemed to have noticed her stirring, as he turned with a small groan and snuggled up against her, his arm wrapping around her waist, pulling her close. Phryne let his warmth wash over her, the air escaping his lungs tickling her cheek. She defied the cold air to lift a hand and run it through his hair, holding her breath. Jack's eyes fluttered gently, then he opened  them , looking at her. 

“You alright?” he asked, his voice hoarse with sleep. Phryne nodded, slipping back under the covers. For a while, they lay in silence. Mrs. Robinson's eyes were glued to the dusty window, behind which the stars were glittering on the night sky. How different they looked from here. 

“I don't like being here,” she finally admitted. “I can't help feeling like I've never been away. Only that it's worse, because I now know how it feels to lead a different life.”

The Inspector pulled her closer, saying nothing. He knew there were no words.

“ And I feel bad about not wanting to be one of them.” She smiled vaguely. “I was born two streets over and yet I catch myself thinking that I don't belong here.”

“You don't,” Jack said, running his hand over her cheek, looking at her in the darkness.

“I could easily have ended up here. It was just a stroke of luck,” Phryne answered after a while. 

Jack had to think about this for a while. She was right of course. She could have been just Phryne Fisher and he had wondered today if that had happened, if things would have been different. Would fate still have led them together? Would he have fallen for her, had she been not the Honourable Phryne Fisher, Lady  D etective? But somehow he couldn't imagine that he could have missed her glow; that her clever mind and her kind heart wouldn't have impressed him. But would she have developed all of this sitting in a factory at a machine, day in, day out? He didn't know an answer to this and called himself silly for even pondering it. They were who they were. 

“Maybe I don't want to think that I could belong here,” he heard her say, her voice sounding suspiciously watery. “Cause what stops me from the gutter, but the money that fell into my lap?”

Jack started. Self-doubt was something he really wasn't used to in Phryne and he found it deeply disturbing. He leaned over, gently brushing his lips over her eyelids. As he had suspected, they were slightly damp.

He wanted to find some comforting words, but then what could he have said? He had  risen through the social ranks also purely by coincidence, by falling in love with a rich, kind woman, who was happy enough to share her life and money with him. It wasn't exactly a story of personal success, even though he enjoyed it. He returned his look to the sky behind the filter of dust. 

“We are all lying in the gutter, Miss Fisher, but some of us are looking at the stars.”

His wife turned her head.

“And there I thought you were over Wilde since your incident with Dorian Gray.”

Jack smiled wryly at this.

“It wasn't Mr. Wilde's fault that I consumed his novel just when I was overrun by my war-memories. Just a badly timed reading experience.”

“Right now, I am feeling like I'm back in the War, too,” Phryne whispered. “Is that a silly thing to say?”

Jack shook his head, wrapping her tighter into the blanket, when he felt her shiver in his arms.

“This is the reason, why I didn't want you to come,” he explained quietly, wiping a lock from her cheek. “But you always need to get your will, Miss Fisher.”

“Well, I guess that is something.”

“It is everything, Phryne,” Jack said. “You would have been to stubborn to stay in the gutter either way.”

She smiled, wriggling out of his arms.

“That is true, Jack. And I am also too stubborn to freeze to death.”

With that, she jumped out of bed, slipped a night shirt over her cold limbs and walked with swaying hips into the kitchen. Jack  slipped out of bed and watched  her  in silence. He wasn't sure if they would have even met in a different life. But he knew that in this one, his heart was full of love for this woman, who was throwing wood into the fire with her curves moving under faded, white cotton. 


	5. Solar Flare

 

 

 

The grey morning light woke her. She was freezing and Jack was nowhere to be seen. Mrs. Robinson groaned, sitting up in bed. She had rather hoped that it had been a dream. But no, she was in fact back in Collingwood. Right now she was in a good mood to pack her things, grab the Inspector and return to St. Kilda to tell Sanderson where he could stuff his undercover work. But his words still rang in her ears. “Whoever is producing this crap is killing people.” She was a detective and she would find those people, while keeping Jack here with her long enough to let justice take it's course in the Browning case. She would not allow this woman to ever walk free again.

It had been a long time since she had been really furious with Jack's kidnappers, but there was still a tiny ball of fire glowing somewhere deep in her stomach, reserved for them. They had sent her through hell that day that he had disappeared and the following two, when he had struggled for his life with her unable to do anything but watch on and hold his hand. She didn't even want to think about what Jack had gone through in his time bound to a chair in a dark basement, fever ridden and slowly bleeding to death. So, if they had managed to get through this and the big War, surely they could survive a few days in Collingwood to find a grog baron, who was poisoning young lads with his drinks. With fresh resolve Phryne swung her legs out of bed to go look for her husband. They had discussed their plans last night, when both of them had been lying awake after sleeping through most of the afternoon. The Inspector was intent on finding himself work in one of the surrounding factories, while Phryne would pretend for a while to be a nice little housewife. Her protest that she was more than capable of work, he had defied. They were meant to be impoverished Richmond middle class after all and as Mr. Turner, he would rather work two jobs than have his wife go into a factory, he had explained. Mrs. Robinson could not really deny that. She suspected that Jack Robinson, a former middle class policeman born and raised in Richmond, would consider taking on a second job before he would ever ask her to go into a factory as well. The thought didn't annoy her as much as it should have.

“I also need you to keep your ears open around here,” he had said after a pause in which she had pondered this. “Gossip flows best in people's kitchens.”

“You want me to make some friends, Jack?” she had asked.

“Well, we are trying to be good neighbours,” he had smiled, kissing her neck. And that had been the end of that discussion. Phryne smiled, while her naked feet moved over the floor boards. She barely avoided the spider, which had decided to have a break from her window seat and looked at Mrs. Robinson in disgust, when she almost stepped on it.

“Sorry,” Phryne quipped, feeling suddenly like she was on a big adventure. She fired up the oven with newly found enthusiasm. So what if they were playing this act for a few days? It could even be fun, if she tried hard enough and managed to shake off the dark thoughts. By now her bladder was complaining, which didn't bode well. Sighing, Phryne pulled on some boots, before she left through the back door. In her experience, outdoor toilets had a tendency to not be kind on bare feet. This one was no exception, she found. The sound of splashing water drew her to the small shed functioning as a wash house. Phryne silently stopped in the open door. Jack was standing over a washing dish, only in his trousers. She watched the muscles move under his skin, while he rubbed water over face and neck, the morning sun falling through the open window, bathing him into it's light. Some water dribbled down over his chest, caught in the fine hair; glittering droplets in the sun. Something about the sight let his wife stand in the door with her heart beating against her ribs. While yes, she did feel the urge to continue last night's activities, that wasn't what was holding her in stunned silence. She found that the warm emotion spreading through her chest, was pride. Her husband, beautiful, strong and yet, vulnerable. He turned, with a towel in his hands, grinning a lopsided grin at her.

“How long have you been standing there?” he asked.

“Long enough.”

His eyebrows rose at this.

“Long enough for what, Mrs. Turner?”

Phryne walked into the wash house, having the presence of mind to trail her fingers through his washing bowl. There was no point in forgetting about basic hygiene she found, unromantic as it might be. Then she stepped towards him, drying herself onto the towel now wrapped around his neck.

“To realise that I have married a very attractive man.”

She ran her palm through the soft curls covering his chest, watched his blood beat against the skin of his neck.

“Who will be late for the job he is hoping to get, if he doesn't leave,” Jack grinned, gently peeling her from himself to grab his shirt.

“You are no fun, Jack,” his wife pouted, helping him to close his buttons.

“That might very well be, Fanny,” he said. “But I fear, right now we cannot afford much fun.”

He took her by the shoulders, pressing a kiss to her lips, before he twirled to fish for his coat and headed back into the house. Phryne stared at the washing bowl he had forgotten about in his hurry, pulling her lips into a pout. Then she sighed and started to clean up his mess. Fanny was a house wife after all. And Phryne Robinson didn't do things by halves as a general rule.

 

X

 

Dorothy Collins poured herself a cup of tea and inspected the clock ticking over her kitchen counter. If Hugh didn't get up soon, he would be late for his shift. In the same moment, she heard steps overhead and smiled to herself. Her mental urging always seemed to raise him. Of course, Father Grogan would find that train of thought highly offensive. Superstition was a mortal sin after all. But then, maybe the connection between a husband and wife was more a gift from God than magic. Dot shoved a piece of bread into her mouth and fished for the paper. She might as well get a look, before Hugh would riffle through it and get it all wrinkly.

The newspapers were still full of the Butcher-Case, with the details slowly leaking into the public, mixed with wild speculations. Dot had spent two years with Miss Fisher and been seeing Hugh almost as long, but it still seemed awkward to her to read about their cases in the press. As if it was something private, while articles were something that happened to other people, public people. By now the information had moved a few pages back, but they were still keeping people occupied, she found, even two days after Darius Johnson had indeed turned out to be the serial-killer, stabbing men during their recreational activities with certain ladies. Dot knew that the former convict had been in the spotlight of this investigation early, but had managed to slip through the cracks. Not that Hugh was supposed to share this information with her, but she guessed that if Inspector Robinson could bring his wife into his cases, so could Constable Collins. And so she read the article only half-hearted, while chewing on the rind of her bread, smiled about the silly things the papers had made up. Just the moment Hugh Collins walked through the door, already donning his black uniform, she dropped her hand, leaving the slice hanging in her mouth.

“What?!” her muffled voice said, before she remembered to take the bread down and lay it onto her plate.

“Morning, Dottie,” Hugh said, stepping behind her. “What are you reading?”

To his utter surprise, Dorothy jumped to her feet, almost knocking over the teapot.

“Hugh Collins! I don't believe this!”

 

X

 

 

After two cups of tea, a made bed and the realisation that she was dragging this out, Fanny Turner left the house, an old basket hanging off her arm. To her relief, the other cottages lay quietly in the morning sun. Phryne really wasn't a very neighbourly person. The idea that you should like people just because they had moved in beside you disconcerted her. Of her own neighbours in St. Kilda she only knew old Mr. Hobert, who she usually greeted in a friendly manner whenever she saw him and otherwise left him in peace. Luckily, he felt the very same way and had not once demanded a cup of sugar or a chat with her. And now she was supposed to make contact with the people here that she didn't share the slightest interest with? A little voice in her head told her that she was lying to herself. She was a Collingwood girl after all. She vaguely remembered the families that had lived around them back in the day. There had been quite a few families, plenty of shabby little girls wearing the same dress all year round, that flew up, when they would hop through their chalk squares on the footpaths and cheeky little boys, who were always willing to gamble their cherry stones against the Fisher sisters. Phryne's pockets had never held much money as a girl but always plenty of cherry stones. She returned to the presence to find a smile glued to her face.

Her feet had, without asking for permission, found their way down to Smiths Street. The contrast to the quiet little streets that made up most of Collingwood was slightly shocking and Phryne stood a moment, trying to orientate herself. Then she straightened her back and marched straight into the next grocery store. The old man behind the counter looked over the rim of his glasses suspiciously when the doorbell rang. Mr. Banning, the owner of the tiny shop, had been in the business for a very long time. He knew people - and something about this woman who wore a dark wool dress like it was the newest haute couture straight from the heart of Paris, seemed slightly dissonant. Yet, her beaming smile was unable to completely hide that she was feeling out of her depths and he couldn't help but grin to himself. So another one of those ladies then. The recession kept flooding people down to Collingwood, when they lost their footing, in wherever circumstances they usually lived. He thought it was quite possible that this very woman hadn't stepped into a grocery shop herself for years. He gently set down the tea jar he had just been busy refilling and greeted the lady.

Mr. Banning might have been surprised by how right he was. Phryne found herself a bit overwhelmed but also intrigued by the colourful little store. It had been a long time since she had bought her own groceries and then it had been shortly after the War, with shortages of many things then. Here, despite the recession the jars and shelves were filled with a variety of products and she realised that she really had no idea what to buy or cook. She looked at the small, bald man behind the counter who offered her his help and let her memory take over. Her basket filled easily, even though the man seemed almost surprised, when she handed him the money with no hesitation and for a moment she wondered if she had failed her role. But then he smiled and she remembered that Fanny wasn't really used to poverty either. He probably thought she was overspending. She might have to tone it down a bit in the future. Phryne turned, almost bumping into a lady that had stepped behind her, currently browsing the selection of bread on offer.

“Oh, so sorry,” the blonde breathed, taking a step backwards. Then suddenly recognition lit up the beautiful face.

“You moved in beside us yesterday, didn't you?”

Phryne didn't answer. She was not quite sure if she had, since she had never seen the woman. But it was probably safest to just play along.

“You must be one of our new neighbours then,” she said, extending her hand. “Fanny Turner. I just moved in yesterday with my husband. We sadly didn't have time yet to say hello.”

Her hand was shaken with enthusiasm, while Mr. Banning watched on over the rims of his glasses, before returning his attention to a brown jar.

“Oh, don't worry about that. You are surely still settling in. But you should come over for a cup of tea someday. Mind you, I'll have to buy some tea first, I am out,” the woman laughed, then babbled on. “But it is lovely to have neighbours again, the house has been empty for a while. Some people came the other day, looked rather grim, and I thought to myself, 'oh dear, they won't move in there, will they?' You know, you don't want just anyone to move in beside you. But you two make certainly a beautiful couple. No children though?”

Phryne shook her head, slightly overwhelmed by the steady stream of words coming from the woman's mouth, even though she had to admit, that her still nameless neighbour had a nice voice, soft and flowing like velvet with just a hint of an accent.

“No, I'm afraid we haven't been blessed,” she smiled thinly, thinking of Jane and briefly feeling like the worst mother under the sun for denying her. But it was a job after all.

“Oh, they're only a blessing at times,” the woman laughed. “My two are mostly trying their hardest to be a curse. Terribly cheeky. But then, they're children so they are meant to be. But I better let you go, or Mr. Banning will never make a sale. So nice to meet you, Fanny.”

With that she turned, and already started ordering at the same speed she spoke about anything. Phryne made her way to the door, her thoughts stuck somewhere between amusement and confusion, but completely happy to have escaped, when she realised that she had still no idea who the woman was. She turned.

“I don't think I heard your name, Mrs....”

“Willis. Adelheid Willis,” the woman laughed. “Do not try to say the name properly, you will get your tongue into a twist. And we can't have that. It's Belgian.”

“Lovely,” Phryne smiled. “I shall see you around, Adelheid.”

And with that she was gone.

 

X

 

 

“It wasn't me, Dottie! Really!”

Hugh Collins had stared at his wife, who was pacing the kitchen for the better part of half an hour. Mr. Butler, who had innocently brought over some extra bread, now stood leaning against the kitchen counter, wondering if it would be terribly rude to disappear. But then, he could not really leave those two to themselves.

“I know that!” she grumbled under her breath. “But someone told the newspaper it was you. You are even _named_ , Hugh Collins!”

The Constable picked up the discarded pages from the table, reading through the article.

“They are lying, Dottie. I'd never... Look, it was Inspector Robinson. They got their wires crossed. Surely we can call them and tell them... or something. Dottie.”

Tobias Butler cleared his throat.

“I think it might not be very wise, Sir, to reveal that Inspector Robinson was involved in this. Especially right now.”

The spouses turned to look at him. Mr. Butler had the decency to look embarrassed when he picked up the paper and flipped through to page five.

“ _Doubts raised about Browning execution_ ,” Hugh read aloud. “Is that...?”

Dorothy ripped the paper from his hands, running her eyes over it.

“I believe this might not be a good time for the Inspector to be in the spotlight,” Mr. Butler urged. “Especially since he is unable to defend himself at this stage.”

“But the papers make it sound like the officer actually had relations with this prostitute,” Dot huffed. Tobias nodded.

“So they do, Dorothy. But you know better.”

His words hung in the air for a long moment, while Dot stared first at him and then her husband, then finally sank onto a chair.

“Which means, we cannot reveal the truth, without getting the Inspector into trouble. And Miss Phryne,” she said quietly, deflating.

“I'm so sorry, Dottie,” Hugh whispered, taking his wife's hand. After a long moment, she looked at him with a smile and put her other hand over his. Mr. Butler smiled at the scene. They would get over it. He couldn't help but wonder who had whispered Constable Collins name to the press though. It felt a lot like politics. In the same moment, a rapping at the door interrupted his thoughts. Before he realised that he was in the wrong house, he was already on his way to open it. The woman standing in front of him looked rather flustered and stormed past him with just a faint greeting. Mr. Butler followed her into the kitchen.

“I didn't say a word, Dot. I don't know, who blabbed, but I promise it wasn't me!”

Dorothy looked at her sister, then her husband, then retrieved her hands from him. Hugh looked like he wanted to die. Mr. Butler sighed. This was going to be a long day.


	6. Space Dust

The wind picked up, when Mrs. Fanny Turner wandered down Cambridge St. She had decided to take the long way home, partly because she wanted to re-familiarise herself with the area and partly, because she wasn't sure she liked being alone in their cottage. Nothing much had changed, she found. Of course, things were different. Some factories had closed, others had opened, small shops appeared out of nowhere, while others had given up, cottages had finally stopped resisting physics and succumbed to crumble into dust, while new ones had been erected. The grubby children playing in front of the school were surely new ones, yet they still looked the same. She stopped to watch them. A small group of girls were skipping rope in the corner underneath the old gum tree, which by now looked positively rotting. Half of them weren't wearing any shoes, even though the autumn had firmly settled in in Melbourne.

Phryne wanted to keep walking, but found her feet firmly rooted to the spot, as memories flooded her brain. Blonde braids, flying, whenever she jumped, laughter sounding through the air. The bell rang and the girls abandoned the gum tree, which creaked dangerously in the wind. Phryne wiped the lost tear from her cheek, when something brushed over her ankle. She looked down, gently picked up the piece of fabric. Her heart seemed to stop. But Murdoch Foyle was long since dead and it wasn't even the same colour. Nevertheless she slipped the faded blue hair band into her pocket. “Thank you, Janey,” she whispered under her breath, feeling silly in the same moment. She didn't actually believe in messages from the grave. But when she walked on, the wind, playing behind her in the eucalyptus leaves, sounded suspiciously like a little  girl's laughter. 

 

X

 

Silence had fallen over the three people sitting around the kitchen table. Mr. Butler had finally left to see about lunch for Jane, who would soon return home from school. The yelling match between the sisters had subsided; now Nell looked miserable and Dot like she wanted to strangle someone, but couldn't decide which of them. Constable Collins nervously glanced at the kitchen clock. He was incredibly late for his shift right now and if nobody had called yet it was only because the Inspector leaving had thrown the station into chaos. He could not really afford to be sitting here, but the expression on his  wife's face made it impossible for him to leave. He didn't quite understand why she was so upset. He hadn't done anything after all and neither had Nell. Of course, he had heard that women who were in the family way, could be sometimes a little complicated. 

“I just cannot believe you wouldn't tell me this!” Dorothy grumbled.

“Well, I can see clearly why they didn't.”

The maids sparkling eyes locked with her sister's, who shrugged.

“You're making such a big deal of a simple business transaction. And it was actually your Miss Fisher who asked me if I wanted to help.”

Dot gasped for air. She expected thoughtlessness and betrayal from many people but not from her Mistress.

“It's Mrs. Robinson now! And you just happened to agree to have sex with the Inspector?” 

Nell huffed.

“I hate to disappoint you, you goody-two-shoes, but it was perfectly innocent. He was a complete gentleman. And I think he almost died of embarrassment.”

Dot let that sink in for a long moment, while the clock ticked more time away. Hugh rubbed his sweaty fingers.

“Surely there would have been another way,” his wife finally said with resolve, “than pretending to...” She made a wild gesture in the air that had nothing to do with sex. Nell had to bite her lip to not burst into laughter.

“Inspector Robinson and your employer obviously didn't think so or they wouldn't have asked me to help with their charade.”

“And it didn't occur to you, that you would embarrass me?” Dorothy asked, unwilling to see reason.

“I honestly didn't think this had anything to do with you,” Nell said with a sarcastic smile, after a moment of thought. “I tried to save my friends and their clients from a serial-killer. My sister, sitting in her nice little house with her good little hubby didn't occur to me at that stage.”

Dot opened her mouth, but was interrupted by Hugh clearing his throat, loudly. Sweat was pouring down the back of his uniform by now.

“Stop!” he said, looking surprised at his own forwardness. “Please. This is ridiculous. We were doing a job, all of us. The Inspector, Mrs. Robinson, me, Jones and your sister. And we caught a killer in the act. The newspapers made up something that's completely untrue. Dottie, you're over reacting.” 

This was probably the closest he had ever come to lecturing his wife and she looked positively thunderstruck. Then her pale cheeks slowly started to glow in righteous anger.

“I am over reacting? You slept with my sister and the whole city knows about it!”

The words hung big and ugly in the room. Dot was panting, while Nell looking confused and Hugh disgusted. To the surprise of both woman, he got to his feet and fished for his hat.

“That is such incredible nonsense, Dorothy, that I will not even respond to it. I am late for my shift and we cannot afford for me to lose my job. We'll talk tonight.” 

He turned and marched out of the room, without looking back. Seconds later the front door fell into its lock with a loud thud. The two sisters stared at each other in breathless silence.

“I believe your husband is angry,” Nell pointed out carefully. Dot didn't respond for a long moment.

“He called me Dorothy,” she finally whispered, before bursting into tears.

 

X

 

The sky was turning a dusty shade of violet by the time Jack approached their street. Across the road an old man was sitting on his porch, lifting his pipe to him and the Inspector wondered briefly, how far Phryne might have gotten already with her mission to befriend the neighbours. A brown chicken was wandering down the street from the other end, looking confused. Jack didn't blame it. He felt quite lost himself at this point in time and there had been some moments, where he honestly wasn't sure he could deal with this. Maybe dedication to the job wasn't everything. He really wanted to tell Phryne about it, but was hesitant. She had so much emotional baggage on her plate herself right now, that whining at her about his first work day really didn't seem very fair. Loud voice s tore him from his pondering. It seemed to come from the house right across the street  of their own. Jack eavesdropped out of habit more than actual interest. It sounded like a domestic fight and unlikely to result in any crime at this stage. Not that he could have done much about it either way without blowing his cover. 

“You stupid wench!” a female voice yelled. “You're father can barely feed us. He'll be damned if he feeds your bastard!” 

“He won't have to, will he?” another woman yelled, obviously much younger. “Cause I'm gonna marry him and there's nothing you can do 'bout it.” 

There was laughter than sounded more like cackling, before it turned into a nasty sounding cough. Obviously the mother didn 't think the young man marriage material. Jack tried to shrug off the conversation and knocked at the door to the  cottage that  acted as his home. The door was pulled open with enthusiasm seconds later. Surprised, Jack looked at his wife, who stood with glowing cheeks in the middle of the small kitchen, the wool dress she was wearing hugging every curve in a way that made it necessary to remind himself, that it would be rude to drag her to bed before even saying hello. The next thing he noticed was the place. It was gleaming.  He cleared his throat,  closing the door behind himself . 

“Have the cleaning fairies been here or have you discovered hidden talents, Miss Fisher?” he asked.

She pulled her lips into something resembling a pout, while stirring in a pot from where a delicious smell wafted through the house.

“Not hidden, only reignited. It's only sandsoap and a scrubbing brush. And I have not always had servants, Jack.”

The Inspector stared at her for a moment.

“Of course not.”

He seriously had forgotten or possibly just never paid much thought to it. He knew that she had grown up here and also that she had spent years after the war in poverty, after cutting herself lose from her family. Yet, in his mind she had always been glamorous. He considered her in silence for a moment, his wife, who was standing at a stove after what must have been hours of scrubbing this place clean. Yet she still  _was_ glamorous. He stepped behind her, laying his hands on her hips and pressing a kiss to her cheek. 

“You never cease to amaze me, Miss Fisher,” he whispered.

“I would recommend you wait until you tasted dinner with your verdict,” she laughed, ushering him to the table. He obediently sat, while she ladled out soup into his bowl, before sinking onto her chair.

“So, how was your first working day, Mr. Turner?” she asked, after he had burned his mouth on the first spoonful.

“Excruciating,” Jack sighed. “At the place that advertised in the paper there must have been 40 people waiting. So I moved on, asked around. Three more places sent me away, at the fourth I got lucky. James & Willerson's shoe factory. They had just fired a worker this morning and needed someone to jump in.” 

He stared at his fingers that were still not quite clean despite his best efforts to scrub them. He cleared his throat.

“But at least I do have a job now, and we won't have to starve, my dear wife.” He smiled wryly. “Not that I am worried, considering your many talents.” 

He took another spoonful of soup, this time blowing onto the surface carefully. It was nice, he had to admit. Not as refined as Mr. Butlers cooking or done with as much practice as Mrs. Collins, but for a woman who hadn't lifted a kitchen knife in at least ten years, unless it was to aim it at an attacker, this was quite astounding. He looked up to find her watching him with a thin smile on her lips, obviously waiting.

“I am impressed,” he admitted. “If I had known you to possess such qualities as a housewife I might have considered this arrangement earlier,” he continued teasingly. She rolled up her eyes in mock annoyance.

“You wouldn't dare,” she said. Jack smiled. She looked so utterly self-satisfied right now that it was hard to believe that only last night she had suffered doubts. He slipped a hand over the table to grasp hers. 

“I wouldn't. I find I _am_ rather attached to my life,” he smiled. Phryne pressed his hand briefly, before turning her attention to her bowl. 

“Don't get me wrong, Phryne, but don't you think the cleanliness of this place might stand out a little bit?” the Inspector asked after several more minutes only being filled with the clattering of spoons. She shook her head.

“My mother always kept our house spotless, and trust me, that was some accomplishment with two grubby girls and a man who had a tendency to throw up beside the bed on a regular basis.”

Jack said nothing, his fingers wrapping tighter around the spoon. She didn't talk much about her father and he had always accepted that. But the odd hint made his skin crawl.

“Many of the woman around here were almost hysterical about cleaning. I believe it was born from the fear of losing their children to TB or scarlet fever.”

Jack nodded and let his eyes sweep another time over the kitchen, spotting a big huntsman crouching in the corner of the window.

“I see you have made a friend,” he pointed out dryly.

“Albert? Yes, he seems to like that corner. I offered to escort him outside, but he wouldn't budge.”

“As long as he doesn't sit on my nose when I wake up, he can have his will,” Jack said warningly in the spider's direction where it chewed casually on a moth ignoring him. 

“Don't be silly, he is well behaved,” Phryne grinned. “He doesn't come cuddle unless invited.”

Jack raised his eyebrows at his wife, watching the thoughts change in her pretty head.

“I made someone else's acquaintance as well today,” she pointed out so casually, that it could only be terrible what she had to say. 

“A neighbour I suspect?” he asked curiously, breaking some bread off the loaf. 

“Yes, a very nice lady. Must be Belgian or Dutch. Beautiful woman, really. I believe her name is Adelheid Willis.”

She noticed with some satisfaction the brief moment of hesitation in Jack's hand, before he bravely brought his spoon to his lips.

“Is she nice?” he asked calmly.

“So it appears, Jack. But then you would know better than I. Or are you always so quick to forget your former lovers?” she teased. 

He looked up at her, humour glittering in his eyes. He had somewhat hoped, Phryne would have forgotten about this little anecdote he had shared in a weak moment. But of course she hadn't.

“Firstly, this might be a coincidence. I do not believe her name was Willis. And secondly, Miss Fisher, we were never lovers. We shared one kiss and that only because she surprised me with her attack.”

Phryne grinned.

“Surnames tend to be subject to change in women, I find and I assume Rosie would beg to differ on your definition of lovers.”

The Inspector wondered, if this was harmless teasing or if there was actual worry lurking, while he finished the last spoon ful of soup. It was sometimes hard to tell with Phryne. 

“Even Rosie had to eventually admit that I would never cheat on my wife,” he finally pointed out. Phryne grinned, then got to her feet, taking his bowl from him.

“I would be inclined to call her a smart woman, but then, she _did_ divorce you,” she quipped, collecting his spoon. 

“I tend to be rather grateful for that,” Jack stated, watching her.

“Yes, I believe bigamy is not a terribly good move for a policeman,” Phryne grinned from the direction of the stove. Jack shook his head, leaning back in his chair. His arms were aching from the unfamiliar movement and what he had seen today didn't make him terribly hopeful that this would turn into a joyful experience. Yet, he found there was something oddly fascinating to living in a tiny house with only Phryne for company. Though he had to admit that he missed Jane. The girl had smuggled herself into his heart from the first day and when he had found that he had accidentally lined himself up to be her legal guardian, while she was still travelling Europe, it had been an overwhelming experience. It was a fatherhood he had never expected or aimed for and when it'd happened, it had been as shocking as it was amazing. Where his developing relationship with Phryne had been complicated at times, his attachment to Jane was not. She had, after a few moments thought, accepted that she was to be his daughter and Jack sometimes dared to think that maybe the rather fatherless teenager had been looking as much for him as he, the decidedly childless Inspector, had been looking for her. It was an awkward thought and he wouldn't have shared it with anyone, even under torture, but nevertheless the word “miracle” might have crossed his mind once or twice.   
“Where were you off to?” his wife asked smiling, while sitting down across from him. Jack realised that he had been staring at the tabletop.

“I am just tired,” he lied. Phryne raised her eyebrows at him.

“Would you like to try that again, Jack?”

He smiled.

“Alright, Miss Fisher, I am hoping that Jane won't destroy my chess board, left to her own devices.” 

Phryne gave him one of those looks that seemed to read him down to his bones, before pulling something from her pocket.

“I'm afraid I can't offer chess or turn into Jane, but we could play a game of cards,” she pointed out.

“We could,” the Inspector smiled, realising that he actually found the idea quite endearing. “Give me a second.”

He returned a moment later with a bottle of amber liquid.

“Mr. Butler was so kind as to hide this in my suitcase,” he stated, while pouring them both a drink in their water glasses.

“He obviously had a fair idea we would need it,” Phryne quipped, shuffling the cards. “So, how do you feel about a game of poker, Jack?”

He sat back down, moving the candles out of the way, before answering.

“I'd prefer a game in which I have the slightest chance of winning, Miss Fisher.”

 


	7. Light Years

Jane had not only a slight chance of winning, she actually was. She had decided on Backgammon for the evening, trying to convince herself that it was because Mr. Butler was way too good at chess for real fun and not at all owing to the fact that she felt like she was betraying Jack by replacing him with a new gaming partner. Such ideas would have been rather silly of her.

Tobias Butler turned out to be a dark horse on the playing front and was shortly behind her, but Jane knew it – she should win this round. Just when she lifted the dice for the hopefully last time, there was a knock at the door.

Mr. Butler looked at the young girl in front of him, who shrugged her shoulders, before excusing himself. He half assumed it to be Riya Santi, who in general seemed to have little regard for the time of day when it was decent to visit a widowed man in the house he did service in. Which was actually one of the many things that he found so very alluring about her. Mr. Butler smiled to himself, while reaching for the door handle but found he was confronted with a young woman instead, who looked like she had been crying.

“Can I speak to Miss Fisher please?” she all but sobbed, a lock from her brunette hair loosening and falling into her face. Mr. Butler found he wasn't sure what to do.

“I'm afraid she is not home,” he said.

“When will she be back then?” the woman sniffled.

“I'm truly sorry, Miss, but I do not know,” the servant said, wondering if he could just leave the upset young girl to her own company, when a voice beside him spoke up.

“Please do come in,” Jane said, looking alarmed. The lady appeared confused for a moment, then stepped through the door into the hall. Mr. Butler took her coat, making a firm note to have a word with Jane later about asking strangers into the house. But then, she hadn't expected any less really. She was Miss Fisher's daughter after all.

“Can I offer you anything?” he asked politely, after the girl, she might have been around 17 or 18 had settled into the cushions of an armchair near the flickering fire. She shook her head and Mr. Butler decided to stand in the background, just in the case she should turn out to be a maniac of some sort. Miss Jane obviously wasn't worried about her, she had sat down opposite of her.

“You aren't Miss Fisher, are you?” the woman asked.

“No, I'm not,” Jane stated with a faint grin. “But I do know her well and she would ask you right now, who you are and why you are here.”

The girl nodded, obviously considering this.

“My names Marion. Marion DeWitt. And I wanted to ask Miss Fisher to help me find my Lucy. She has disappeared and my parents think she has run away, but I'm sure she hasn't. She's just lost.”

The girl sobbed and Jane gently patted her hand, trading a look with Mr. Butler. There wasn't much they could do, considering that neither of them was sure, where Phryne even was. Jane was going to tell her that, when the girl babbled on.

“I don't have much money, but I thought, maybe Miss Fisher would still help me. I could work for her, do some cleaning maybe or washing...” She trailed off, when she looked at Mr. Butler. “Then again, I am sure she has people for that.”

“Indeed, I doubt that will be necessary,” Mr. Butler said, from where he was standing in the door. “But I am afraid, the Lady of the house is currently unavailable. And her time of return is uncertain.”

A new wave of sobs shook the girls thin shoulders. She fished a grimy handkerchief from her pocket, drying her tears.

“I'm sorry, I just miss her. And the thought, that she's running around there in the cold...”

Jane couldn't watch on, she had to do something.

“Tell me about her,” she urged, while handing the girl her own handkerchief, a lacy piece of stainless white fabric. It wouldn't stay that way for long.

“She's two years old, very cute and so lovely.”

The young woman smiled a watery smile. Jane and Mr. Butler traded a confused look. A two year old running away?

“Just to clarify,” Jane asked after a beat, “are we talking about a dog or a cat?”

 

X

 

 

Dorothy Collins was being silly. She had retired early, deciding that she and her little one really needed was some extra sleep. Instead, she was staring into the unmoving darkness, listening to any creaking in the woodwork, wondering when Hugh would be home. She knew, his shift should have ended an hour ago, but then he had been very late and the Station was an officer short. And of course he hardly ever was home on time anyway. There were always things to do and criminals weren't in the habit to pay attention to the time, the police officers on their heels wanted to knock off. So, really it wasn't all that strange that the house lay in utter silence. And yet it was disturbing.

“You think he's still mad?” she asked the part of her stomach where she suspected their baby was hiding. It didn't answer. In the same moment she heard a key turn in the lock downstairs. Holding her breath she closed her eyes and waited. Any moment now, he would come looking for her, notice that she was asleep and press a kiss to her lips, before returning downstairs for some dinner and reading. It was his ritual, when he worked late. The bedroom door swung open with a soft creak and she could hear him breathing beside her bed, anticipating his lips that would tell her that everything was fine. Seconds later his steps retreated, walked around the bed. Dot lay still, listening to the ruffling of fabric, as he took his uniform off and slipped into bed. He was lying too far for her to feel him and she was tempted to snuggle up, but there was a suffocating emptiness in her chest. It was the first time he had not kissed her when coming home. The first time he would just go to bed, too angry to even eat dinner or sit down. Dot wanted to cry but knew that that would have given her away. So she just lay still in the darkness, until his breathing evened out and she knew she was alone again.

 

X

 

Giggling filled the little kitchen. The candles had burned far down, leaving splatters of wax on the freshly polished table, and the bottle was almost empty. Jack knew, he should have gone to bed hours ago, remembering dimly that he was expected to be back at work at 8 o'clock sharp. But there was a n enchantment to sitting at the wooden table with Phryne Fisher, no Honourable in sight and listening to her cracking dirty jokes, while her eyes slowly went out of focus. She had had too much, he was quite certain of that, but he hadn 't stopped her. Maybe she needed it to deal with this place and as long as she wouldn't make heavy drinking a habit, Jack would be damned if he would defy her any comfort he could offer. Currently she was trying to be sneaky about her cards, but he knew what she was holding. Mostly, because she had put down her hand in an effort to refill her glass. Face up no less. He smiled, when she attempted a flirtatious smile to distract him. They had ended up playing poker. Of course they had. There was no way on earth he could ever win against Phryne in a battle of wills. Or maybe there was, she had married him after all. Right now he could've wiped the floor with her in the game, but hesitated. It didn't seem right to take advantage. He was distracted from deciding whether to let her win or not, when her giggling distracted him from his thoughts. She was currently attempting to empty the remaining whisky into her glass, missing it however slightly and getting highly flammable liquid near the open flames of the candles. 

“Phryne!” he said, grabbing her wrist and gently retrieving the bottle from her hands. She looked at him, then burst into a new fit of giggles.

“You're no fun, Jack,” she pouted.

“I'm just attached to my life,” he insisted, getting up without releasing her. “And I think it's time for you to go sleep, Mrs. Turner.”

“Already?” she moaned, but getting up on shaky legs nevertheless, she grabbed his arm to glance at his watch. “It is only 2 am.”

Jack gritted his teeth when he thought what time he would have to get up so he would not lose his job on the second day.

“I hate to spoil your fun, Miss Fisher, but I believe I need some sleep and so do you.”

He wrapped his arm around her back, attempting to steady her towards the bedroom. They made it all of three steps, before his wife stopped.

“Jack,” she said, looking up at him in sudden seriousness. He couldn't help but smile. He preferred her sober and sharp, yet there was something alluring to her losing her head like this.

“What is it?” he asked, reaching out to slip a loose lock of her hair behind her ear. She seemed to battle with herself.

“I love you,” she finally said, “you have no idea, how much.”

Jack felt suddenly sober and the urge to burst into tears. Traitorous wetness pressed into his eyes.

“I love you too, Phryne,” he managed to croak out. It didn't seem to do justice to what he felt at all. They were just words. Meaningless, stupid words, that couldn't say what he wanted to tell her.

“With you here, this job is bearable,” she mumbled, tearing him from his attempt to fit his emotions into a sentence. Jack grinned.

“I'm not certain, if you're hangover will be, though,” he teased, trying to lead her further towards the bedroom door.

“I don't do hangovers,” she prompted, lifting her head and trying to detangle herself from his firm grip in an act of defiance. It was a mistake. With a loud giggle, Phryne stumbled over her own feet and took the Inspector down with her, coming to lie on top of him. 

“Ouch,” he breathed, trying to sit up, which was impossible, thanks to his wife, who seemed to find the situation highly amusing.

“Sorry, Jack,” she giggled, but didn't move.

“I am currently quite glad that you scrubbed the floor today, but it is still rather hard,” he pointed out. “Would you mind?”

She obviously did, because Phryne's body stayed firmly pressed to  his. Her scent was invading his nose and Jack had to  tell himself sternly, that he really needed some sleep. At this stage he was tired enough to do it right here, if his wife couldn't be convinced to move soon. He would probably make a comfortable enough mattress for her at least. But the thought of the floorboards against his back was not overly appealing. He had missed the curious look she gave him. 

“Are you all right, Jack?” 

“I'm fine, Miss Fisher, I would, however, prefer to go to bed.”

His wife ignored his protest and ran a fingertip along his eye.

“You are crying,” she said.

Jack tried to make sense of this in his slightly whisky-fogged brain. He wasn't upset and he wasn't sure if he wanted to share, what really had been on his mind, when she had interrupted him by dragging him to the floor.

Phryne had leaned up now, burying a rather painful elbow into his chest in the process and looked at him with worry clouding her eyes. He reached up to stroke her face.

“I was just thinking that I would go anywhere with you, Phryne. Anywhere at all.”

The Inspector bit his lip. It was more than he had meant to say and he blamed the whisky for it. His wife appeared stunned. She wasn't used to sentimental outbursts in him. They wore their hearts on their sleeves, yet they hardly ever talked about it. A soft expression spread over her face like the first morning light at sunrise.

“I think I like that,” she whispered, shifting her weight.

“And I would like it, if-” Jack tried, but found his mouth being sealed by a pair of rather urgent lips pressed to his. He battled for a moment with himself, then succumbed to being devoured by Phryne, who wrestled his tongue with more eagerness than elegance. Her hand tore his shirt out of his pants, before he had a chance to regain his senses, too breathless to protest her motion. Her hips were grinding against him in a way that did nothing to calm his growing arousal.

“Phryne-” he tried again, a groan ending his second attempt at sanity, as her fingers twisted around his nipple while her lips found his neck.

“Yes, Jack?” she teased, her words vibrating against his skin.

The Inspector closed his eyes in surrender, bucking up his hips in a half-concious attempt to participate in her efforts. He was content with the moan escaping his wife's lips in response to him rubbing against her through several layers of clothing.

But he wanted so much more. Jack wove his fingers into her hair, pulling her into a burning kiss, attempting to sate his hunger for her that he could never seem to quite satisfy. His other arm wrapped around her back, clasping her body to himself. By now he longed so much to feel her that it hurt. Somewhere in his foggy brain he was aware of her hand slipping between them, starting to unbutton his pants and tried his hardest not to squirm under her touch. When her fingertips brushed over his warm skin, he thought he'd lose his mind. But she didn't give him time to ride the wave of heat flooding his body. Jack found his nails attempting to dig themselves into the floorboards, when she slipped on top of him. A hiss escaped his lungs.

The stars behind his lashes only slowly subsided. When he finally managed to look up at her, her cheeks were flushed and her hair tousled. She was so beautiful that it was hard to believe, she was real. The Inspector noticed ashamed, that he was being quite passive, despite his hands gripping her hips as if he were trying to prevent her escape. She didn't look like she was about to run. In fact, she appeared smug and still rather drunk.

Jack couldn't help but grin to himself, which provoked  Phryne  to twist her hips in an unexpected move. He had to bite his lip so hard that he tasted blood, in an effort to stay silent. The neighbouring families were only a thin wall away after all and might not appreciate witnessing their nightly activities. His hands had started to wander, finding a breast through the smooth wool of her dress. Running his thumb over her hard nipple, he revelled in the lust clouding her eyes. She was breathtaking in those moments and he felt every single nerve in his body prickle with desire.  By now he was  certain that he was losing his mind. 

As if she had read his thoughts, she leaned down to gently press her lips to his, her hair tickling his cheek. There were questions in her eyes when she retreated, and he caught her head, pulling her into another kiss. No, he wasn't scared. She drove him insane, but there was no fear  mixed into the flood of feelings overwhelming him.

His hand had slipped under her dress, hoping to prove to her just how much he wanted to be here. With her. He watched her eyes fill with growing ecstasy, felt the fireworks her moans sparked in his own body as their lust bounced and echoed of each other. By now, he was stubbornly attempting to hang in there long enough to see her tumble. But Miss Fisher was not an easy woman to overpower and he was holding on by the skin of his teeth, when she sped up their rhythm, with little regard to his breathless begging. But  he could also feel her getting close and with  the last of his strength he managed to nudge her over the edge. Phryne threw hear head back with a yell that would have made him hope to God that their neighbours suffered from incredibly deep sleep – if he 'd had that much brain capacity left. It was too much to bear and the wave of passion  rushing through him,  finally crushed his last resolve. With a muffled scream of his own, Jack came, pulling Phryne down on top of him. 

His wife giggled into the breathless silence, before he had time to resurface. With wobbly legs  s he climbed off him and snuggled into his chest. 

“We should probably go to bed, Jack,” she pointed out sleepily, when he just lay still, trying to catch his breath. The only answer she got was a soft murmur and his arm wrapping around her tightly. Exhaustion took over Jack's limbs and mind. He felt unable to move. Phryne shrugged, curling into his side, revelling in his warmth and his slowing heartbeat. After a while, the candles on the table burned out. The shadows sneaking into the kitchen found a couple lying tightly wrapped together on the floorboards, fast asleep.

 


	8. Eternity

Grey morning light filtered through the dusty kitchen window, where Albert was watching t wo people sleeping on the floor, shaking his little spider head. He had considered at some stage to wake them, but  in his experience, humans didn't always appreciate his efforts to be friendly. So he left them alone.  Just as he thought that, the man stirred. Groaning, Jack Robinson returned to the land of the living. He wasn't sure, which part of his body hurt the most, but his back was definitely in a head-to-head race with his throbbing skull. With some effort he peeled Phryne enough from himself to sit up and realise what had happened. He gritted his teeth. 

Great, so they had lost their  heads on the kitchen floor last night, with Phryne drunk out of her mind and him not too far behind. He was pretty sure he would leave that part out of his report for Sanderson. A quick check of his watch let him utter another groan. He was also late getting ready for work. Especially considering that his clothes were crumpled and his skin sticky with fluids he rather didn't think too deep ly about at this stage. He looked down at Phryne who seemed to have taken their adventure with her usual poise and was still fast asleep.  Jack shook his head. The woman was so close to unshakable, it was rather scary  at  times. But, considering that she had finished about two thirds of a whisky bottle by herself last night, before falling asleep on a wooden floor, her poise might not last the day. 

Jack pulled himself to his feet and had the presence of mind to button up his pants, before picking up his sleeping wife and carrying her into the bedroom. Pulling the sheets over her, while she softly murmured in her sleep, he had to battle the urge to just crawl in beside her and damn his factory job. But it wouldn't do. He wasn't here for a holiday. Sighing, he returned to the kitchen to fire up the oven. The last ashes had cooled a little while ago and cold was creeping through the small window and the floor. It was to be considered a miracle if neither of them caught a cold. How stupid of them to succumb to their lust there and then fall asleep on top of it, he scolded himself without real sincerity. In truth, the Inspector couldn't help but smile about the whole encounter. It was nice to lose his head without having to worry about anyone bursting in. Not that their love life was restricted and boring at home, but nevertheless, there was a part of Jack who wished he could just ravish Phryne on the love seat in the parlour when she once again lured him with her bedroom eyes, rather than having to worry about Mr. Butler or Jane or Mrs. Collins wandering through the door. He wasn't complaining, Inspector Robinson assured himself quickly, while he scraped the wax off the table and wiped off the spilled whisky. He was fond of Phryne's collected family, even the grumpy Bert was growing on him. Yet it seemed a special treat to be alone with her once in a while. If only he didn't have to go to work today. A quick glance at his watch let him know that his efforts to clean the table had now eaten up the time he had hoped to have breakfast in. With a small curse he left for the washhouse, where he scrubbed last  night's memory off  of  himself with cold water, partly because he didn't have time to heat the oven, partly because otherwise he might have surrendered to his growing  need to join Phryne in bed. Twenty minutes later, Jack Turner was on his way to his working place, shivering in the cold autumn wind without a proper coat on his back to keep him warm. 

 

X

 

 

 

Dot sat at her kitchen table, counting the minutes, while she miserably  stirred  her tea. 212 minutes until Hugh had to leave for work. She hadn't slept much last night, but her husband hadn't moved an inch. Usually, no matter how they fell asleep, she would always wake up with Hugh wrapped firmly around her in the morning. And while she sometimes found that incredibly annoying, especially in the heat of summer, this morning she had drifted out of light sleep, shivering and upset, with nobody there to comfort her. Right now she really wished too, that Miss Phryne was there to ask her what to do. Surely, Hugh couldn't pout forever about her blowing up a little bit at him. Then again, she had been quite unfair, hadn't she? Telling him he had slept with her sister. Really, none of it was true and in the light of the day, she was still upset about people opening their papers to find her husband's name in less than desirable circumstances, but it wasn't exactly his fault either. It would just actually be nice to be able to tell him that, instead of staring at his sleeping back. Dorothy huffed to herself, wondering if she should go and see Mr. Butler. He always seemed to have answers to about everything. But Jane was still home and Dot wasn't sure if she wanted to explain the whole situation to the girl. Inspector Robinson was pretty much her father nowadays and the idea of him being entangled with Nell didn't seem a particularly nice picture to paint for a teenage girl. So she sat still and made herself up another piece of toast that she didn't eat. 

Had Dot headed over into the Robinson's kitchen, she  would have been witness to Jane looking up from her porridge bowl to inform Mr. Butler that she had no intention  of return ing home right after school. He looked up from his paper in surprise. 

“And what would be the reason for this, Miss Jane?” he asked, eyebrows raised. She got up, bringing her bowl to the sink. 

“I will look for Lucy, Mr. Butler.”

The servant had an inkling that his temporary ward had something like this in mind, and so tried his best to look astounded.

“What makes you think that you can find the dog?” he asked. “Her owner can't.”

Jane smiled.

“Yes, but I am clever and my parents are detectives. It's in the blood.”

Mr. Butler chose to not point out that the teenager didn't share a drop of blood with either of her parents. Blood relations in his experience, were generally overrated. But she was right of course. And what could be the harm in it –  beside the  many  danger s lurking in the back streets and empty houses and all the other places where you would look for a stray animal? 

“I don't think it is a very good idea for you to search through Melbourne on your own, Miss Jane.”

The girl, ha ving already  reached the door, now turned, obviously protest on her tongue. 

“So, I will pick you up from school and we will see if we can find Lucy together,” Mr. Butler finished, returning to his paper. Jane closed her mouth, beaming. The servant bit back a smile of his own and glanced at the clock. 

“You better hurry up now though, or you will be late.” 

“Thank you, Mr. B!”

“I am just doing my job, Miss Jane,” was all the answer she got from the reinstalled wall of paper that hid the broad grin on the servant's face. 

 

X

 

 

Loud thudding woke Mrs. Robinson. It took Phryne a moment to realise that it was outside her head. Groaning, she pulled herself upright, rubbing her throbbing temples. There was another rapping sound. Someone was obviously rather intent on coming in. Phryne considered briefly just staying in bed, but her curiousity won in the end. She crawled out from under her covers and fished for her dressing gown, a rather horrible piece of taupe cotton, when she realised that she had never actually gotten undressed to start with. But her black dress was crumpled with a rather telling stain on it and she decided to slip the coat over it anyway. Trying not to think too hard about how the rest of her looked, she stepped barefoot to the door to open up.

“Good morning,” a cheery voice sounded. “It always seems hard to make the first step when you're the new girl, so I thought, I'll make it easy on you and come over. I also brought Margarete along. Maggy lives on the other side with her husband and kids. So you know all of us at once, I thought.” 

Adelheid stopped briefly in her flow of words, when she noticed Phryne's appearance.

“Oh dear.” She bit her lip in amusement. “I thought you might have had a bit of a rough night, but you look worse than I imagined. Here, take this and I'll just run over and get you a powder for your head.”

With those words she shoved a basket into Phryne's unresisting hands and left her and the petite, dark haired woman to their own devices. The women stared at each other for a moment,  until Phryne attempted a smile. 

“Please do come in. I apologise for my appearance, it got quite late last night and I didn't expect guests today.”

A knowing smile ghosted over Maggy's face, making Mrs. Robinson wonder, just how much of the late night she had  heard through the paper-thin walls. While she set up the kettle, she thought of Jack, who she suspected  was currently at work, with deep sympathy. 

“I'm sorry for intruding,” the other woman said after a long moment of silence and took the offered chair. “Adelheid dragged me over here by the scruff of my neck. And since my little ones are at school, I had no excuse not to be introduced to 'the new girl'.” 

Phryne turned, discovering a grin on Maggy's face, that calmed her heartbeat somewhat. So, maybe she had found an ally.

“Not to worry. I am keen to meet my neighbours, actually,” she lied, setting some cups on the table and inspecting the ingredients hiding under the cloths on Adelheid's basket. It was something probably resembling a cake.

“She's a terrible baker,” Maggy explained. “Terry, her husband, has tried to forbid her using up expensive sugar and butter for her disasters, but she won't budge, will she?”

“Are they in trouble?” Phryne asked, covering up the burned abomination and realising that she was being rather forward. But then, politeness and discretion weren't particularly common traits in this area. You lived with your neighbour basically sitting on your lap. She might as well get started. 

“They should be I guess,” Maggy shrugged. “Terry's working over at Gabler's textiles as a foreman, Adelheid hasn't held a job in three years. Says he doesn't want her to, but who knows?”

Phryne thought of Jack explanation the other day. It might be true.

“But for him having a shitty job, they seem to have plenty of coins jingling in their pockets. Haven't seen the kids missing anything yet.” 

“Interesting,” Phryne breathed.

“Huh?”

“Nothing, I just thought it was a little odd,” she smiled. Maggy stared at her, obviously measuring her degree of honesty.

“Yeah, it is,” she finally said, her voice unreadable. The same moment, Adelheid stormed through the door, a package in hand.

“Sorry, my loves, I had to search for them,” she said in her sensual, but rather loud voice, swinging a pack of headache powders. “Lil Paul enjoys hiding them.”

Phryne flinched as her head reminded her why she needed the medicine.

“Thank you,” she smiled, taking the pack from the woman and ushering her guest onto a wooden chair in the hope that she would be quiet long enough for the powder to take effect. 

She used a brief retreat to the backyard to get more water as a chance to draw some fresh air into her lungs. She felt slightly nauseated at the idea of having to eat cake and spend the next hour or so in the company of those two women with no way to escape. Glancing into the dusty mirror in the wash house that Phryne still had to clean, didn't improve her mood at all. She looked just as she had expected, her lipstick half gone, her hair a mess and rings under her eyes. The things whisky would do to you. She briefly washed her face and shook her hair back into shape. No make-up was better than last nights, she had realised some time ago. Maybe she could get away with getting dressed quickly after her return to the house, she wondered, filling a jug with water. 

“You alright, girl?” a voice asked, causing her to jump. Adelheid was leaning in the door, her head tilted in a way that made her look like a five year old. “You've been gone for a while, I thought, I'd better come looking for you?”

Phryne forced herself to smile at the woman, handing her the jug.

“I am perfectly fine, just decided to freshen up quickly.”

To her surprise, her neighbour accepted this answer and retreated. With a last glance into the mirror Phryne decided that she looked better than she felt and followed Adelheid back into the kitchen.

 

X

 

“Dottie?”

Dorothy pried her eyes open with some effort, stifling a yawn. When the kitchen came back into focus, she spotted her husband in the door – or at least someone wearing his uniform. Hugh Collins looked pretty close to a ghost right now. Pale and worried.

“You... you got something there.”

He stepped closer to wipe some jam of her cheek. Dot's eyes followed his every move. Then she looked onto her plate that held a suspiciously flat looking piece of toast. Slowly she shook her head, trying to find her senses.

“You nodded off on the table,” he stated the obvious. “I was just seeing if you are alright.”

“Hugh, I... Do you want some breakfast?”

He shook his head, twisting his helmet in his hands, while he stood in the door.

“I'm late,” he said. “I fell asleep an hour ago and almost slept in.” 

But never mind his words.  H e didn't move  and j ust stood in the door, looking miserable. 

“Please sit down,” his wife said, her voice sounding tiny. Slowly, the Constable nodded and pulled a chair out. Dot kneaded her hands, trying to find words. She didn't really know where to start and she was well aware that there was little time.

“Look, Dottie, if you want to talk more about how I 'slept with your sister', I don't want to hear it,” he finally said, hurt tingeing his voice. “I have enough on my plate at work right now. The lads are laughing at me and I had a lecture yesterday by Inspector Morgan about the virtue of punctuality. You've never been in a room for half an hour with Inspector Morgan or you would know what that means, Dottie. So please, for the love of God, don't start again on how I embarrassed you, because I am embarrassed enough by this whole thing for the both of us, without you bringing it up yet again.”

Dot stared at her husband, who was by now panting in righteous anger. She didn't really know him like that and found to her surprise, that  this side of him was pretty enticing. 

“Why didn't you just tell me?” she finally asked, after a long moment of nothing but the ticking clock. Hugh wrung his hands.

“You are my wife Dottie and you're carrying our child. I don't want to bring all the horrible details of my work home to you.” He swallowed, obviously battling with himself, “But if you really insist on knowing: I had to watch my superior officer with my sister-in-law, which was no fun at all because they were really damn convincing and my head was glowing most of the time and on top of that, the Inspector got almost killed because me and Jones got distracted.”

Dot now stared at him with her mouth hanging open.

“Thank God, Mrs. Robinson was there with her pistol or it would have ended badly,” Collins added, trying not to flinch when he remembered his mess-up.

“Thank God,” Dot echoed.

A faint blush had crawled onto Hugh's pale cheeks. If caused by the embarrassing memories or his excitement, they would never know. He looked uneasy, like he expected to be sent to bed with no dinner. Dot chewed on her lip in thought.

“I'm sorry about... you know. What I said. But I despise it, when you just leave me in the dark. I'm in the family way, that doesn't mean I don't care anymore.” 

Hugh looked at her with big eyes, nodding.

“I'm sorry, too, Dottie. I hate arguing with you. I couldn't get a wink of sleep last night.” 

“Me neither,” his wife admitted. “Well, maybe an hour or two.”

“I heard you snoring,” he grinned.

Dorothy lifted her chin.

“I have you know, Hugh Collins, that I do not snore.”

Her husband chose not to disagree with her and instead just grinned, briefly taking her hand. He then let himself be talked into a cup of strong coffee and a slice of toast, before he really had to leave, if he wanted to avoid another meeting with Inspector Morgan.

 


	9. Eternity

Jack could hear his stomach growling, when he listened closely. Mostly the sound was however covered by  the  noise the men and the machinery made. He felt the cold creep up his pants legs.  H is feet were already frozen, where they stood on the floor, which could hardly be called that. There was grass visible at the edges of the metal box that passed as a factory hall. His hands didn't really have time to get cold, they were fervently dancing over the pieces of leather he was fitting together, before handing the half done shoe to the next man. Sweat was pouring down the Inspectors temples. The headache hadn't let up since the morning and he wasn't sure if it was still caused by the remains of too much whisky or the penetrating fumes of boot polish hanging in the air. Not that it really mattered. He found, that despite the constant movement, his fingers had started to feel numb, his back was aching, half from the mistreatment of sleeping on a floor and half by the strange stance he was  trapped in. The table was slightly too low for him, leaving him  crouched over . He didn't want to know how the men dealt that were  much taller than him. He had briefly introduced himself to  some of them, before they had been urged to get to work . There was  a giant by the name of Wesley Miller, a tall, skinny bloke called Ed ward Wenbrock, then Oliver Cromss, who was probably the only one who actually had a good height to work at the table  as he was small and about as wide as he was high, Jim Ferren, a young kid who Jack had to battle down the urge to drag out of here and return to the school he belonged in and „Gramp“ Nicholson, a man who despite his high age made still for a rather impressive appearance, while his wrinkly hands danced over the leather like they never had done anything else in their life. They probably hadn 't. 

“Don't fall asleep there,” a voice urged. Jack realised that in an effort to follow his real occupation, he had drifted off from the job at hand. The pair of eyes that looked at him were a clear shade of blue under a head of dirty blonde hair. The man had only slipped through the door at the last moment and so Jack had never gotten a chance to find out who he was. Right now, he looked at the Inspector in a mixture of friendly amusement and annoyance and Jack handed over the piece he was holding in a hurry. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled. 

“First day?” the guy asked, without slowing down. 

“Second,” Jack answered, taking the next shoe from Oliver. 

“Welcome to hell,” the man grinned. Jack wasn't sure, if he was kidding. He got the answer a moment later. 

“Don't worry. They're not that bad here. And the pay's decent.” 

A pound a week for this sort of labour, was not what Jack would've called decent. Even though he had a sneaky suspicion, that his new bosses might have taken the chance to slim down his wages in comparison to the man they had sacked. The Inspector shuddered at the thought to actually have to raise a family like this. But he shut up, working on in silence for some time longer.

“Just moved here, did ya?” the guy asked after three more shoes had passed through their hands. 

“Came down from Richmond,” Jack answered, trying to keep up with the conversation and his workload. 

“Wife and kids?” 

“Just wife,” Jack answered honestly. Thank God, Jane was not here. He knew she had experienced poverty even more than Phryne and he would be damned if he ever dragged her to a dreadful place like this one again. 

“Lucky you,” the man said to his surprise. The Inspector looked up, causing a shoe to drop onto his work bench. He scrambled to pick it back up, but the man had seen his reaction. 

“Don't get me wrong. Love them to bits, but the buggers are damn expensive to keep fed.” 

Jack nodded with his jaw clenched. He truthfully wanted to point out that his co-worker was clueless on just how lucky  _he_ was. But then, the Inspector could imagine that in a world like this, children were as much baggage as they were a blessing. Yet another person crowding the house, needing food, clothes and time;  all of which were sparse in this part of town. No, if he was honest, he didn't really envy the man. 

Jack had Jane and Phryne and no financial pressure anymore.  He truly had feared becoming rich. Taking money from Miss Fisher and pretending that it was his  own ,  had  just seemed wrong - even after she had assured him that she would never consider him a gold digger. But he had also been unable to shake the thought that he wasn't supposed to be a rich man. Like he attempted something that fate hadn't meant and would be severely punished for trying to step out of line and aim for the stars. And yet, his yearning to be Phryne's husband had overruled all care. It had been very different than he had anticipated. A couple of wedding vows and a little paperwork later, he was free from all financial worry and it had felt as if a weight had lifted from him. Strangely satisfying. It wasn't as if he went on a spending spree. He didn't actually touch any of it, left the investing to Phryne and her bankers,  who had so far managed to carefully navigate around the cliffs of the recession. 

Despite this, he had taken some reading material to the parlour on a few occasions, to ensure he was up to scratch. It wouldn't hurt to know what he was up against, should the need arise. But just the knowledge that it was there to take care of them and their family was good enough. 

While his fingers fiddled yet another piece of leather into yet another shoe, he glanced at the sombre faces of the men working around him, wondering how many of them slept badly at night, worrying how to feed  their families. He really was a lucky man. 

“Dreaming again!” 

The voice wasn't unfriendly, maybe a little impatient. Jack shook his head.

“No, my fingers are falling asleep,” he managed to say. While he had been a little absent, his hands hadn't stopped working for a second, but the numbness had started to crawl up his arms by now. 

“You've not done this before, have you?” Oliver asked from the other side, shoving another shoe into his hands. 

“Never,” Jack admitted, silently adding 'and I was rather hoping I never would have to'. He glanced at the big clock on the wall across the room. It wasn't even lunch time yet. The day was stretching into eternity. 

 

X

 

“When, Josh? Just gimme a date so I can shut up my Mum!” 

The young man, sitting on a narrow brick wall, jumped down, grabbing the woman's hands.

“I'm sorry,” he said.

She stared at him, her mouth agape.

“You're kiddin'!” 

He shrugged, chewing on his lip. Any moment she'd burst into tears and he hated, when she cried.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “My father would kill me and no mistake.” 

He probably should've seen it coming. But the slap echoing of the walls hurt mostly on the inside. He wasn't sure if he deserved it. Maybe for being so stupid. While Josh was still clutching onto his burning cheek, she stalked off in the other direction. He wanted to call after her that she was heading towards the tip, where for sure she didn't want to go. But there was no point to it. She wouldn't listen to him. He had messed up.

 

X

 

“So, what does your husband do?” Phryne asked, after she had a cup of tea and a tiny cube of the burned offering that Adelheid had presented her instead of a cake. She also had tried for what must have been 30 minutes to draw some interesting information from the two women, sitting at her kitchen table – so far, in vain. Maggy shrugged. 

“He works over at James & Willerson's. Not the best place but the pay's decent.” 

Phryne frowned briefly. A strange coincidence.

“I believe that's where Jack found work as well,” she smiled, returning to her role as harmless neighbour. 

“How is he dealing then?” Adelheid asked, after swallowing her bite of cake, that she ate with healthy appetite. “He didn't exactly look like the labourer type if you don't mind me sayin'.” 

Phryne laughed. Part of her wanted to crawl into the corner and weep. Jack in a factory was really not something she wanted to think too much about. She had had plenty of time to witness what this kind of job did to men – and women. It had driven her own father to drink.

“He's not,” she heard herself say. “He used to be an accountant. Very boring sort of work.” 

Adelheid giggled at this, like she had made a good joke.

“He didn't sound particularly boring last night,” Maggy quipped. 

Phryne forgot her act and gaped openly at her neighbours, before she caught herself. Then she smiled cheekily.

“I didn't say that _he_ was boring. Only his occupation.” 

“Jack... such a beautiful name.” 

Adelheid sounded quite absorbed in memories and Phryne was wondering if she thought of a particular incident.

“Yeah, also very rare,” Maggy frowned, draining her cup. Mrs. Robinson glanced at her, rolling her eyes. She felt she was starting to get the hang of this. Adelheid pulled her lips into a pout. 

“Just because it's a common name doesn't mean the men attached to it are common,” she said pointedly. “I knew a Jack once...” 

Phryne poured herself another cup, offering Maggy one, who shook her head.

“Haven't we all...?” she heard her mumble under her breath, while her new friend continued. 

“Very handsome,” the blonde said, lost in fond dreams, “also very, very married.” 

“Adelheid!” Maggy scolded, laughing. 

Phryne smirked to herself and leaned back. So this promised to finally get interesting. Her neighbour seemed to have slipped deeply into her memories, gently touching her bright coloured lips, as if she could still feel Jack's lips burning on them.

“He kissed like a wildfire,” she revealed. 

“If I remember correctly, the flame was drowned very quickly by the appearance of his wife,” Maggy threw in dryly, causing Adelheid to blush. Sheepishly the blonde stirred in her cup. 

“I will admit, he was too good a husband to take this slip up lightly. A shame really.” 

There was certain glitter in her eyes, as her smile returned and she started to talk about something entirely unrelated.

Phryne didn't know what to feel. She was torn between a touch of unnecessary jealousy and equally uncalled for relief. She had never for a moment doubted Jack's word and yet it was nice to hear from the horse's mouth that the incident had happened exactly as he had recalled it. Besides possibly the wildfire. She would have to ask him about that, the lady detective decided. But the more she got to know Adelheid, the less she understood Jack's attraction to her.

“Oh my,” her neighbour suddenly said with a glance at her watch. “We keep chatting and chatting and the kids are gonna be home any moment. I better get cooking. You coming, Mags?”

“Sure,” the other woman sighed, pulling herself to her feet. Phryne couldn't shake the impression that the ever babbling Adelheid ground on her nerves at times. She watched the two women leave, waving them goodbye in the door with a friendly and completely fake smile on her face, before she slammed the door shut and collapsed into her bed to sleep off the massive hangover still haunting her. 

 

X

 

 

Jack sat on a box, his back leaned against an ice cold metal wall.

“Turner?” 

He found that his head automatically flew around. Strange, how quickly a name could grow on you. He half feared that he would be scolded for sitting here. His feet demanded a few minutes of rest. But instead of anyone causing trouble, the nameless man stood in front of him, handing him a cup of tea.

“I don't think I introduced myself yet,” he stated. “The lads spilled the beans on you. It's Mike Carter.” 

Jack shook the offered hand after relieving the other man from the second cup.

“Thank you,” he said. The hot porcelain burned against his numb fingers. 

“No worries,” the man quipped, climbing onto another box. He watched Jack's attempts to get the steaming tea into his complaining stomach. 

“It gets easier,” he said. 

Jack nodded at him, trying a smile.

“Sure will,” he said after a long moment of tea-filled pause. “Have you been living here long?” 

“All my life,” Mike grinned, showing a gap between his teeth. “So has my wife Mag's. Both Collingwood kids.” 

Jack looked closely at the man. He somehow had thought him to be about his own age, but he must have been quite a bit younger. He still couldn't help but wonder though, if he had known Phryne as a child. What a shame that he couldn't just ask him.

“Another one?” Carter asked. Jack shook his head, pointing at his still half-filled cup. 

“Thank you. I think I might have to go outside.” 

“You better hurry. Not too much of our break left.” 

Jack sighed, straightening himself with some hesitance. Mike waved him off, as he stumbled on stiff legs towards where he seemed to remember the location of the toilet. Crossing the yard, Jack spotted two men lurking in a corner, apparently fighting. Casually, he walked closer, his heart pounding in his chest, wondering what he would say if he was caught. Something told him, they wouldn't just give him a slap on the fingers for eavesdropping. He recognised one of them as a foreman, the other one he had never seen. He crept closer, trying to not look too suspicious.

“He can't just do that! We are actually making shoes here!” 

“Leave it, Brad! He can do whatever the hell he wants. And the boss wont raise his voice at him. Wouldn't dare to, being afraid he'll lose his tongue in a hurry.” 

Jack's jaw clenched in his hiding spot, behind a wall.

“So, we'll just have to deal with his random shit, yes?” 

“Exactly, just keep your mouth shut and your head down.” 

“And what do I get out of that, huh? Barely enough to keep my wife happy.” 

The other man slowly measured 'Brad' with his eyes, a hint of humour glimmering in his irises, that Jack could see, even though he was still standing some metres away.

“She gets to keep ya in one piece. That's gotta be good enough.” 

Undistinguishable mumbling was the only answer and the two men wandered off, leaving a breathless Inspector Robinson behind. His bladder reminded him of his intentions, before he had been sidetracked. His head spinning, he relieved himself, before returning back inside. So it was true. There was someone here pulling the threads. Somebody who people feared to cross. And it wouldn't have surprised him, if it was just the man he was looking for. Taking up his work again, the Inspector glanced at the men surrounding him. Either of them probably knew something. So this wasn't a useless exercise just to keep the appearance up, it was actually investigating. The adrenaline flooding his veins, let the leather spin faster in his hands. Things were back on track.

 

X

 

Wind brushed over his bare scalp. Mr. Butler grinned and gripped the steering wheel tighter. He didn't often get to drive the Hispano-Suiza, mostly due to his Mistress own joy in driving – despite the protest of her passengers. But she had introduced him to the car in case of emergencies. And picking up Jane from school to go sleuthing definitely classed as such, he had decided. Spinning around a corner and scaring a poor horse to death, he hit the brakes, slowing to a more sedate pace, before he arrived at the front gate of Jane's school. It was perfect timing. The girl was just wandering through the gates with a bunch of friends, who looked at him strangely. One of them giggled, and Mr. Butler wondered for a moment if he should be offended. Really, there was nothing funny about him driving such a car, was there? The look of cheeky pride displayed on Jane's face made the thought disappear. So she had told them. Jane climbed in, throwing her books onto the back seat.

“So, where do we start?” she asked. 

“I was rather hoping, you would have figured that out by now, Miss Jane,” Tobias said, driving slowly over the cobbles. 

“Mr. B, could you do me a favour please?” 

“Anything in my power, Miss,” 

“The girls were all excited about you and the Hispano and you're driving like my grandmother right now.” 

Mr. Butler grinned, pushing his foot down. The red convert sped up, flying towards the end of the street.

“I wasn't aware that you had a grandmother, Miss,” he yelled against the wind. 

“I don't think I've ever met her,” Jane yelled back. “But this is definitely not how she is driving,” she laughed. “This is more my mother's style.” 

Mr. Butler felt oddly proud about this comparison. They drove on for a while in companionable silence, then the servant pulled over, jumping out to help the girl down.

“Where are we?” she asked. 

“At Miss Marion's house, Miss. I took the liberty of assuming that was where we were heading.” 

Jane nodded.

“You know, you would make a very good assistant sleuth Mr. Butler,” she said. 

“I do try,” Tobias smiled. “Would you like me to wait outside?” 

Jane looked worried for a moment, then she nodded.

“I'll be back soon. I just need to talk to her again.” 

“I shall be right here, Miss.” 

And so, Mr. Butler sat back in the Hispano and waited for his Mistress to return from her outing.

 


	10. Dark Matter

The cold Autumn wind mixed with the smoke from the chimney's and the variety of things being burned in the cottages  that lined the street s , turning the air into a thick, icy stew. Jack had the collar of his thin coat thrown up, hoping that the scratching he felt in his throat would pass. But of course it wouldn't. Two days in a metal container, with a night on the floorboards wedged in between, probably had to have some sort of effect on someone who usually spent his days in an office. He shivered, when a gust of wind flicked through his clothes. Jack was frozen and starving and  desperately long ed for a hot meal and an early night. He hoped to talk Phryne into joining him under the blankets, just holding her seemed like a heavenly idea right now. To his surprise however, the cottage he reluctantly called his home, lay in total darkness. Jack couldn't help icy  dread invading his stomach. The words from the afternoon echoed through his mind. They were on the trail of a very dangerous man. With numb fingers he pushed the key into the lock and let himself in. Only shadows greeted him. 

From the bedroom sounded soft, familiar snoring, that let  a wave of relief wash over him. So she was asleep. Probably still hung over. The house was cold, Phryne must not have been up for hours. Another feeling appeared, once the fear had withdrawn. It was annoyance. There were dirty dishes littered across the kitchen, some still from last night, some obviously from today. A stale abomination of a cake sat in the middle of the table. Jack sank onto a chair, staring at the mess. The silence was deafening. He felt the urge to wake Phryne, but knew that it wasn't a good idea. He'd probably  have  lash ed out at her and it was a  quarrel , neither of them needed. He sucked calm, steady breathes into his lungs, reminding himself that they were acting. He was not a factory worker, who came home starving and she was not a housewife. They were detectives and considering the lipstick-stained cups, she had probably taken care of her part. But he had  done  his and he  _was_ starving.  T he lead in every single one of his limbs  stopped  him  from  get ting up to find himself food. Instead the Inspector put his arms on the table and buried his heavy head in them. He half-expected to hear her soft voice call his name any moment, her hand  to fall onto his shoulder. She always seemed to sense when he was distressed and the absence of her comfort tonight, felt like a loss. 

Jack didn't move for a long time.  Truly , he  just  wanted to weep for exhaustion. But finally, he pulled himself to his feet and started to collect the dirty dishes. With gritted teeth, Jack fired up the oven, boiled water and washed the  cups, bowls and a little later, himself. He chocked down a terrible piece of dry, burned cake, that calmed his stomach down to a low grumbling, before finally falling into bed. Phryne's warmth greeted him, as soon as he crawled under the covers. She looked peaceful and dishevelled and her husband couldn't help but smile. Jack snuggled up to her back, enfolding her in his arms. His unreasonable anger at her had softened, but it was still bubbling somewhere, he knew. It would disappear, given time. He had never been able to hold onto a grudge against Miss Fisher for long and that fact alone was incredibly annoying. Here, in the dark, his body moulded against hers, he didn't stand a chance. Listening to her breathing, Jack stared at the honey coloured moon, until sleep overpowered him. 

 

X

 

When Mr. Butler approached the parlour to call Jane for dinner, she was still sitting exactly where he had left her. She didn't look upset. Just deep in thought.

“Miss Jane?” he asked carefully. 

“We have been absolutely everywhere,” she stated without looking at him. “The park, Marion's friends, her grandmother, everybody Lucy likes to play with... But I am missing something, Mr. B. I know I am.”

Mr. Butler sighed.

“Maybe she is just lost,” he said gently. “She might return in a day or two.” 

The girl looked up at him and he spotted some tears in her eyes. She really took after her mother, shared blood or not. It was something Mr. B had always admired about his Mistress: her compassion. It drove her to push forward, no matter the risk, once she was invested into a case. And the Inspector nowadays was generally not far behind her. And where had it gotten them? To Collingwood of all places.

Mr. Butler sighed. He tried to not succumb to his uneasiness about this whole story, reminding himself sternly, that he didn't believe in premonition. And now Jane had set her mind on finding this dog, who had probably run away for some reason or other.  He sat down beside the teenager and took the liberty of lying a hand on her arm. 

“It's possible that we aren't meant to solve everybody's problems, Jane.” 

The girl pondered this.

“They always seem to,” she said, nodding her head at the picture of Jack, that hung innocently on the wall. Mr. Butler had to smile, every time he looked at the portrait and tonight was no exception. His fondness was not only caused by the knowledge that it had been lovingly painted by a pair of hands he happened to be very attached to. He also took quite a lot of joy out of the fact that the Inspector was so deeply embarrassed by having caught an artist's eye, that he would take the picture down the moment his wife would allow him to. She never would. 

In that very  moment a knock at the door drew the butlers attention away. His heart sped up slightly, before the sound had  even  had time to arrive in his brain. It had been caused by the very same hands that had held the paintbrush ; he could hear it in the way her knuckles hit the wood. 

“I believe you have a visitor, Mr. B,” Jane grinned. Tobias found to his annoyance that he was actually blushing. So there might be a detective lost on the girl after all. 

“I had better let her in, it is a rather cold night,” he said, excusing himself. Riya didn't seem to care much about the cold. She wore her usual abundance of fabric, this one in a eye-curdling shade of yellow, but no coat and a fresh splash of colour to her cheeks. 

“Good evening,” she greeted, brushing past him in a cloud of perfume that reminded Tobias of a flower field in far Italy and a night not long ago, that he wouldn't forget in a hurry. Before he could answer, she twirled and pressed a kiss to his forehead. 

“You look rather shocked to see me, my darling. You haven't forgotten, have you?” 

Mr. Butler looked stunned for a moment, then realisation dawned on him.

“You have, haven't you?” Riya laughed, running her knuckles over his cheek, looking highly amused and Tobias couldn't help breath a sigh of relief. “Well you better get ready. My friend Juan is waiting in anticipation for the mysterious man who has conquered my heart.” 

He glanced anxiously at the door to the parlour. Jane sat, a grin on her face turned towards them, pretending to be enthralled in a schoolbook that had appeared out of thin air.

“I'm afraid, this isn't a terrible good time,” Mr. Butler explained quietly. 

Watching Mrs. Santi's confusion, he tried to come up with a sensible way to explain the insanity constantly haunting this house. Then he realised, who he was talking to.

“Well, I hope you aren't standing me up, Tobias,” Riya grinned. “The sudden change of plan isn't due to cold feet by chance?” 

“I am looking forward to being introduced to your friends,” Tobias lied. “There just happened to be some rather unexpected occurrences that force me to stay in tonight.” 

“Well, since it doesn't appear like we are going to Juan's gallery, you might as well explain to me in detail, what those occurrences are,” his lover smiled, taking off the outer layer of her dress that turned out to be a coat after all. 

“Good evening, Jane,” she thrilled, walking right into the parlour, before Mr. Butler had a chance to stop her. 

“Good evening, Mrs. Santi,” Jane smiled, briefly glancing up from her book. “Did I spoil your date?” 

The woman waved a hand through the air in a dismissive gesture.

“Nothing that cannot be repeated at a later time. But I am curious now, about the mysterious circumstances of this cosy night in.” 

She glanced at Mr. B, who stood in the middle of the room, wondering what to do and gently pulled him down beside her.

“I believe, that is a rather long story,” Jane smiled. “In brief, my parents have disappeared for an unknown amount of time to save the world and poor Mr. B here is stuck being my governess.” 

Riya laughed, glancing fondly at the 'governess ' , who smiled somewhere between embarrassed and proud. 

“That is not entirely true, Miss Jane,” Tobias said. “I am actually honoured by the trust your mother has put in me.” 

“That is lovely of you to say, Mr. B. I am, however, perfectly capable of staying home on my own. I might use the chance to drop by Dot's kitchen and have a cup of cocoa. I believe, Hugh is working late tonight. So, if you are trying to avoid stepping out tonight, you will need a better reason than me,” she grinned. 

Mr. B traded a look with his lover. Riya was waiting on his verdict and Tobias knew that she wouldn't utter a word of complaint if he should choose his duty over his promise to meet her friend and look at paintings that wouldn't make any sense to him, pretending that he was used to sipping champagne rather than serving it. The way her eyes glittered, made the prospect suddenly very tempting though.

“Are you certain, you don't want me to stay, Miss?” he asked after a pause. Jane rolled her eyes in mock annoyance. 

“I did just return from travelling the continent,” she reminded him. “I am quite sure I can survive a night home alone.” 

Mr. Butler pulled himself to his feet.

“Very well, I had better get ready then.” 

The two women looked after him, as he wandered towards the stairs. Then Riya turned to Jane.

“Thank you,” she smiled. “But now do tell me, what Phryne and her Inspector are up to. I am dying of curiosity.” 

 

X

“You will drink. And then we will die. Together.” 

Phryne looked down, where a golden cup had appeared in her hands. When she glanced up again, Janey was standing beside Foyle, holding his hand.

“Drink,” she said, her eyes cold. “I died for you, now it's your time.” 

The grin on Foyle's face was a ghastly mask.

“Drink!” he urged. Phryne looked down at the cup. She wouldn't! But her hands were moving on their own accord. As much as she struggled, Phryne couldn't stop. She didn't want to die! 

“Janey, please...” she heard herself beg. Murdoch Foyle's laughter echoed in her ears, suddenly turning into a cough, just as the bitter liquid arrived at her lips. 

With a start, Phryne awoke, her heart drumming in her ears. She blinked into the darkness, trying to orientate herself. The coughing continued. Phryne turned her head, finding a dark shadow curled up with his back to her.

“Jack?” she whispered, touching his shoulder. Instead of an answer, she got another round of hacking. Phryne tried to wrap her head around the events. She could not remember him coming home. That said, she did not remember much about the gone day in general. Jack seemed to finally have sufficiently coughed out his lungs and turned to face her. 

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you,” he croaked. 

“You may wake me anytime, while I'm having nightmares,” Phryne smiled, reaching out her hand to run through his hair. 

“I will remember that,” the Inspector grinned, still sounding hoarse. For a long moment, they lay in silence, while Phryne contemplated if the warmth under her fingertips was normal. He seemed a little hot. If he should start on a fever, she would get him out of here, Sanderson be damned. Jack took her hand, pressing a gentle kiss to her palm, as if sensing her thoughts. 

“What happened?” she finally asked. 

He shrugged in the dark.

“You were out cold, when I returned home. I assume this might be connected with the amount of whisky you consumed last night, Miss Fisher.” 

Phryne smiled into the darkness.

“That is probably a fair conclusion, Inspector.” 

Comfortable silence settled over the pair, as Phryne snuggled against Jack's chest, hoping to find some comfort. The dream still lingered in her bones. It wasn't Foyle so much that scared her, she had had nightmares of him for many years. Maybe you could get used to the monsters under your bed some day. But Janey, Janey blaming her for her death – that was new. And she couldn't help wanting to weep over it. Her distress was obvious, she could tell from the way, Jack's fingers ran through her hair.

“Do you want to share your dream?” he asked into the darkness. Phryne shook her head into his chest. His lungs sounded wheezy under her ears. She thought of all the nasty things her mother had warned her from, of tuberculosis and diphtheria, and children with “a spot on their lung” or a sore neck, who suddenly had disappeared from school, sometimes never to return. She shuddered under the warm blanket, crawling even closer to Jack. A part of her just wanted to call the whole thing off right now. Bring him home and get Mac over in the middle of the night. But another part of her was laughing at her being so hysteric. He was a grown man and he had lived through quite a lot of things, including a war, several dangerous wounds, three meetings with a serial-killer and being strangled with his own tie. Let alone trailing after her for more than two years. He would be just fine. As if to defy her tries to calm down and be reasonable, Jack peeled her from himself, just in time to turn away and save her from getting coughed in the face. When he returned to her arms, his wife's was frowning. 

“That doesn't sound good, Jack. We might have to get Mac down here,” she said, stroking his face again, in the hope that she wouldn't discover a fever. She breathed a sigh of relief, when she found his skin to be rather cool and pulled the blanket over his shoulder. 

“As much as I like Mac, I doubt her appearance will do our cover any good. It's just a cold, Phryne,” Jack yawned. “You see, my wife seduced me on the kitchen floor, rendering me to weak to drag myself to the bedroom. That just called for some divine punishment.” 

Grinning, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, pulling her close and Phryne let her eyes fall shut. She allowing herself to be calmed and comforted. A thought occurred to her.

“That's because my husband kisses like a wildfire,” she grinned, opening her lashes to find Jack stare at her in confusion. “Or so I am told,” she added smugly. 

“I take it, you have made closer acquaintance with Mrs. Willis?” he asked after a beat. 

“She remembers you very well,” Phryne pointed out, ignoring the worry edged on his face, contemplating a possible discovery of his identity by their chatty neighbour. “Or at least she remembers Jack Robinson and his kisses.” 

“Kiss, Miss Fisher. Singular.” 

“A very impressive one, it seems. But don't be ashamed, Jack, she is a very attractive woman. Wonderful voice, seductive accent.” 

Phryne couldn't manage to wipe the grin off her face. To her astonishment she found that every hint of jealousy had disappeared into thin air. She was finding it actually highly amusing to tease Jack with his one glitch in marital fidelity.

“I did tell you that, Miss Fisher,” Jack smiled.

“You did,” Phryne hummed into his chest. “You forgot to mention, however, that she isn't the sharpest knife in the drawer.” 

Jack's laugh turned into another cough.

“I never claimed she was,” he pointed out, when he had ceased to splutter, deciding to be oblivious to the returning look of worry on his wife's features. “Only that she was rather pretty, as far as I recall.” 

Phryne nodded, suddenly serious. She had to ask, she realised or it wouldn't leave her alone.

“I always thought you weren't particularly fond of silly women,” she said, before she had time to stop herself. It was a nasty thing to say, she knew, yet she couldn't help but wonder, what Jack, her Jack, who didn't suffer stupidity lightly at all, could have attracted to Adelheid. In place of an answer, he wove his fingers into her hair, locking their eyes. 

“I am not. I tend to be highly attracted to clever women. This one in particular.” 

The romance of the moment was somewhat spoiled by his voice cracking under the pressure of another coughing attack, that he managed to swallow down.

“Yet, you did flirt with her?” Phryne heard herself ask. 

“I was 23, Miss Fisher. I flirted with any woman under the sun, who would allow me to,” Jack smirked in the darkness. “It didn't mean a thing.” 

Even in the sparse light of the moon, Phryne could tell that he was worrying himself with her apparent jealousy. She couldn't explain that that wasn't the point at all. She just occasionally wondered, how well she really knew this man she had said 'yes' to. He let her look right into his soul and yet she never seemed to run out of layers to peel back and discover more secrets. But maybe that was just the way when one went on the adventure of really exploring another human being down to his bones.

She glanced at him, finding him still watching her with intense eyes, asking her to trust him. She couldn't even put into words what she felt. But there was no doubt in her heart, no fear. Even though she might never know everything about all the depths Jack Robinson hid under his layers of clothing, she would spend a lifetime discovering him. And something told her, that she would never find anything to disappoint or scare her.

She had married him. It was a commitment she had never thought she'd be willing to make and yet, here she was, being Mrs. Robinson. Even though she was currently pretending to be someone else entirely. But for all her doubts about marrying him - or anyone for that matter, it meant all the more that she had, she realised. They weren't 20 anymore, she didn't need his financial support, she didn't feel it necessary to satisfy anyone's expectations and she certainly didn't care about what people thought of their arrangements.

Of course, she cared about Jack, his needs, his wants that were a lot more old fashioned than her own. But he would have stayed, even if she had refused his proposal or called off the wedding at the last minute. So in the end Miss Fisher had just done, what she always did: Exactly what she'd wanted. And that was, as it turned out, to everybody's surprise and most of all her own, to marry Inspector Robinson.

Phryne could feel his eyes lingering on her, wondering, waiting. His fingers were now trailing restless circles over her exposed shoulder. She reached out her hand, ran a thumb down his cheekbone in an attempt to melt his concerns away.

“I did marry you, Jack.” 

“I've noticed, Miss Fisher,” he quipped, his voice still rough. But despite his joking, he understood. She hadn't tied herself to him, if she had the slightest doubt about entrusting him her life. Jack's features softened and Phryne pulled herself up onto her elbow to lean in and kiss him, but to her utter annoyance, he grabbed her shoulder, gently holding her back. 

“That's probably not a good idea, Phryne.” 

As he spoke, he stifled a cough, almost as if to prove his point. His wife pulled her lips into a pout. Telling her what to do was an irritating enough habit in itself, but not kissing her bordered on an insult. She considered if to sulk him into submission, talk away his defences or simply overrule him.

Before she had time to follow through on either thought, her husband was shaken by another spell of coughing. When he finally fell, wheezing, back onto his pillow, his wife had disappeared.

“Phryne?” he tried to ask, but it turned into more of a croak. 

A second later he realised exactly where she had vanished to. His gasp for air was not entirely due to his cold this time around. After a moment's hesitation, Jack leaned back and closed his eyes. Reason told him that it must have been close to midnight and probably a good idea to get some more sleep, if he was hoping to beat his cold and the weight of several restless nights still lingering in his bones, before the morning came. His body and about every inch of his heart and soul whispered to him, however, that his wife was trying to care for him in her very own way. A lesser woman might have cooked him a tea and tugged him into bed, but she was Phryne. Doing things by the book was not her style and he wasn't complaining. That was about the last clear thought his brain managed to form, before Jack melted into the caress of her mouth and let himself be washed away. 

 


	11. Blood Moon

Constable Collins sighed, when he pulled himself to his feet in search of another file on the “Butcher”-case. It probably was lying in the Inspector's office, but for some reason, he  hesitated to enter the abandoned room . The emptiness was unsettling despite the knowledge that the DI would be back soon and the fact that  at this time  of night  he would  likely  b e at home. 

Hugh didn't know much about why and where the Robinsons had gone. Even Dot didn't seem to have much information beyond that they had gone to Collingwood for an undercover job. The officers at the station had found out even less - only that the Inspector was leaving for “some time”. There were whispers and speculation of course, even some talk that he had been fired by Sanderson. Hugh couldn't abide that and so he had spoken up in defence of the Inspector. That again had increased the teasing, the Constable had suffered for his mention in the newspaper. Hugh knew that he couldn't win – the more he defended himself, the more he drew suspicion, while silence just cemented his guilt in the eyes of his co-workers.

The clock ticked the hours away too slow, while  the Constable sat bent over the costumary paperwork, silently cursing the  C ommissioner for having sent the Detective Inspector away before he could manage to wrap up this case. Three more hours. Since Wilkins was lying in bed with a cold, the Constable had to pull a double shift to keep the station running, now that they were two men down. Collins chewed on the end of his pencil and stared at the clock-arms arms, willing  them to go faster. It was tempting to just lock the door  behind himself and  go home to Dottie, her warm kitchen and their bed. 

Tonight, not even criminals  appeared  to see any point in being awake. Besides the rustling of paper and the occasional car outside, there was no noise. Dead silence had fallen, so thick that it could be cut with a knife. Hugh almost jumped, when the phone rang. 

 

X

 

Thoughtfully, Dot stared into the sugar bowl, while she listened to Jane talking. She probably should have sent the girl to bed but she didn't have school in the morning and truth be told, Dot didn't much enjoy being alone in the house.

Mr. Butler hadn't returned yet from his outing, she was quite sure or he would have let them know on his arrival.. Which meant that it was just the two of them – three if she counted the baby. Dot didn't find the idea of being on her own an overly comforting thought.

She also did cherish her time with Jane as she had missed  the girl  while  she  had travelled through Europe and while many things had changed over the last year, nothing at all had changed between them. 

“So, what did this Miss Marion have to say?” she asked, yawning. 

“It was quite strange,” Jane offered, thoughtfully. “I believe she didn't dare speak very openly about Lucy in front of her brother, who was rolling his eyes and being a general pain.” 

“Brothers can do that to you,” Dot grimaced, remembering both of her own. 

“The night before she was much more upset about her disappearance.” 

“So you think, she was lying?” the maid asked. Jane shook her head, sending her braids flying. 

“I believe that was the truth. She might have been embarrassed by her family knowing that she came to our house.” 

“So are you going to give up?”

“What do you think?” Jane grinned. 

“Knowing you and considering your education in Miss Fisher's house, pigs may learn to fly first,” Dot smiled, getting up to retrieve the pot of cocoa from the stove. 

“I also don't think she can afford to pay for a detective,” Jane said, pushing her cup over the table to be refilled. 

“Surely that's not going to stop you,” Dorothy stated, pouring hot liquid into both cups. “I don't believe Miss Fisher's has ever taken a case based only on financial compensation.” 

Jane chewed on her lip.

“No. She also said that she didn't have much money. But I was just wondering. They seemed to live in a lovely house and she was also well dressed. Yet, there was nothing around. No vases or statuettes, not even a picture on the wall.” 

“They might have had to sell things, due to the depression,” Dot pointed out carefully. 

But Jane wasn't listening, she twisted a braid in deep thought, before dropping it suddenly.

“Oh, I've been so stupid. Of course!” 

Excitedly she shared her idea. When she had finished both women had a healthy glow to their cheeks. What a shame they had to wait for the morning.

 

X

 

It was a young woman. Or at least what was left of her. Her dark hair was matted on her head, leaves stuck in it, dirt smeared over her waxy cheeks from the ditch the killer had dumped her in. A drunk plasterer had found her, when he had tried to take a trip into the bushes on his way home with two of his mates. By now all three looked rather sober and pretty cold.

“How did you find her?” Hugh heard Constable Foster ask one of the men, while he waited crouched beside the corpse, in the way he had seen Inspector Robinson do it a hundred times. It couldn't be that hard to find clues, could it? 

“Fell over her, when I went for a leak, didn't I? Was hidden under a pile of leaves the poor thing. She's no older than my lil' girl. If I catch that bastard...” 

Collins tried to concentrate and block out the man's swearing. He was right though, she was no older than 17 or 18. Her clothes spoke of poverty even more than her missing shoes. The threadbare blouse and skirt were soaked in a lake of drying blood, as were the sheets someone had wrapped her in. So she had died in a bed. By blood loss seemed the most likely conclusion. He couldn't see any cuts or gunshot wound from the outside.

“Are you going to find out where the blood is coming from, Collins? Or are you suddenly gone shy on women?” a laughing voice beside him asked. Constable Dahle was new to City South and Hugh couldn't help but dislike him. He had a sneaking suspicion that he was not the only one. The Inspector seemed to always be very sarcastic around the young man with the red head of hair. That was generally not a good sign. DI Robinson's tongue could be sharper than this kids razors was. 

“That will be done by the Coroner, after the photographs are taken,” Hugh said calmly, channelling his inner Jack Robinson. “Now if you would like to head back to the station and go through the missing person's folder...” 

Gurgling laughter was the only answer he got for a while.

“I almost thought you were giving me orders there for a moment, Collins.” 

More laughing followed. Hugh's hands balled into fists, while he battled down the urge to jump up and punch the other man. His attempt at steady breathing brought back the smell of mouldering leaves and blood. It didn't help his anger in the slightest.

“What is so funny, Constable Dahle?” he heard a voice over him. 

“Nothing, Inspector Morgan,” the kid gurgled. “Only that Collins is suddenly worried 'bout touching a girl. Weren't so shy the other night, were ya, Collins?” 

Hugh looked up at both men, trying to read Morgan's face. That  Dahle was grinning in  a way he would have called evil for lack of a better word, didn't come as a surprise. But the Inspector seemed completely unfazed. Mind you, little ever seemed to shake him up. 

“I believe, Constable, you're energy would be better spent at the Station, looking through the missing person's folder for a match,” Morgan said smoothly. Hugh's eyebrows rose in surprise. Had that been a trace of sarcasm? Dahle didn't stop laughing, but hinted a mock salute. 

“Aye, Sir.” 

With that he marched off. Morgan shook his head, looking after him and mumbled something under his breath.

“What do we have here, Collins?” he finally asked. 

“An unknown young woman, Sir. No papers on her. She was found by those three men over there earlier tonight.” He waved at the three guys, still standing shivering around Constable Foster. 

“What were they doing down here? It doesn't seem a particularly interesting place to be after midnight,” Morgan asked in his low singsong voice. Hugh wondered if he had children. If so, he would never get past the first page of reading them a goodnight story, he was certain. 

“They were drunk, Sir, on their way home. One of them, a Gerrard Berning, had to go for a slash, Sir.” 

Hugh stopped. “Slash” was probably not a word policemen said during an investigation.

“A slash you say?” Morgan mumbled, while Hugh's ears turned a bright shade of red. “Very well. Continue.” 

“He fell over the body, called down the other two. Robert Edler ran back to the pub and called us, while the other two stood guard. That's really all we know at this stage, Sir.” 

“Hmmm, beside that she bled to death in a bed,” Morgan hummed. 

“May I voice a suspicion, Sir?” Hugh asked in sudden boldness. 

“Please do.” 

“The blood seems to concentrate around... here, Sir.” 

Hugh was worrying at this point, that his ears might start to glow in the dark, but bravely he pointed towards the female parts of the young corpse – or at least, where he gathered they would be hiding under the stained brown cotton.

“Some time back we had a case of backyard abortion, Sir. A young woman, who almost bled to death.” 

' And was saved by the Cabbies, before Miss Fisher and Dot had gotten the quack doctor responsible, behind bars ' , Hugh followed this silently. Alice had actually been one of the bridesmaids at his wedding, half a year ago. 

“And you think this might have happened here, Constable?” 

“It is only a suspicion, Sir.” 

There was something almost akin to a smile whispering over Morgan's face, as he pulled himself to his feet.

“I'm sure the Coroner's report will show us more,” he stated, then glanced at his watch. “Go home now, Collins, I am certain your wife will be waiting for you. Goodnight.” 

With that he wandered towards the four men still standing in the dark.

Hugh Collins stood lost for a moment, wondering what to do. It didn't feel right to leave the woman alone lying in her blood. But there was little he could do for her tonight. He had to wait until the morning. And Morgan was right, Dot would be waiting for him.

“Goodnight, Sir,” he said, for nobody to hear. 

 

X

 

It certainly wasn't a good night. Phryne hadn't counted how often she'd woken, but it must have been twenty times. It wasn't just her overdose of rest after dozing through most of the day that  kept her awake . Nightmares haunted her and whenever she managed to calm down and drift off again, her husband stirred. 

Jack had fallen asleep quickly in the end, seemingly exhausted and sated, but it hadn't lasted longer than an hour, before his own coughing had violently shaken him awake again. And Phryne along with him. He 'd also tossed and turned in his sleep, as if there were other things on his mind that wouldn't let him find rest and she'd snuck a hand to his forehead several times, scared that her fears would be confirmed and he was running a fever. But every time his skin had been cool in the night air s eeping through the thin walls and windows. 

Sometime around four she slipped into the kitchen to make sure the fire didn't burn out. Phryne could not remember ever having worried this much about a simple cold, not even in Jane, and deep down she was hoping that Jack was too  deeply asleep to notice. She was a little embarrassed by acting like an overprotective mother hen. Yet, she had to admit  grumpily  to herself, this place made her feel helpless, as if she couldn't protect him or herself from the lurking evil. A memory flashed in front of her eyes, causing her to return to bed in a hurry, snuggling with a racing heart into Jack, who turned to pull her close, as if he could sense  her emotions even in his  sleep . Phryne wrapped her arms around him, felt his warmth seep through his pyjamas and knew that nothing terrible would happen. They would be alright; he would make sure of it. 

When she woke again, she was back on her own side of the bed, grey morning light falling through the window and the mattress moving under Jack's weight. She turned to find to her utter surprise, that he was sitting at the edge of the bed, rubbing the sleep off his face with both palms before fastening his watch around his wrist. Phryne pulled herself into a sitting position. She knew this ritual rather well.

“And what exactly do you think you are doing?” she asked. 

“I, my beloved wife, am getting ready for work,” he smiled, turning to her and leaning in to kiss her on the forehead. Phryne withdrew, unwilling to let herself be calmed. 

“You are sick, Jack!” 

“I've got a cold. It won't kill me. And I cannot afford to lose my job,” her husband pointed out, attempting to hide his disappointment at her reaction, while he collected his clothes. 

“It's just a cover, Jack!” 

Phryne closed her mouth, realising that the desperation in her voice was too telling. In fact, Jack was currently staring at her  in mild  confusion. 

“I don't believe, you getting yourself seriously ill, will be helpful for our success in this investigation,” she said quietly, remembering the thin walls. “You don't need this factory job. We don't actually depend on it, if you should have forgotten!”

Jack Robinson stood for a moment dumbfounded. Then he sat down, gently cupping her cheek, which told his wife that he had seen right through her argument.

“I am alright, Phryne. There is no need to worry. But it is necessary that I find out what people at James & Willerson's know. I overheard a very interesting conversation yesterday.” 

After he had told her the details, h e leaned in to kiss her head again and this time Phryne surrendered, allowing herself to wrap an arm around him. 

“I admire your commitment in this investigation, Inspector. But I would appreciate if you make an effort to not kill yourself in the progress,” she quipped, her eyes belying the humorous tone of her voice. 

“I will try my hardest,” he promised with a wry smile, stroking a lock of hair from her face, before inspecting his watch. “However, I do have to get ready for work.” 

At witnessing  the look  she gave him , he added: “It's only a half day, Phryne and tomorrow is Sunday, the  Lord's day of rest.  And if you wish, I will spend it  entirely in bed. ”

His wife sm iled mischievously, running a teasing finger down his chest. 

“What did you have in mind, Jack?”

“Sleeping off my cold, mostly,” he grinned, catching her hand and pressing a kiss to the tip of her cheeky finger. “But if I don't want a cold wash, I do have to go,” he prompted, pulling himself to his feet and leaving the bedroom. He did seem a little better, Phryne had to admit, but nevertheless, she wasn't at all happy with his unwillingness to see reason. For a long moment she sat, her knees pulled up to her chest, staring out the window into the cold autumn morning. She felt exhausted, despite spending what must have been twenty hours in bed. Finally she made a decision. 

 


	12. Starburst

When Jack Robinson returned to the house, 15 minutes later and in a much cleaner state, he found his wife sitting at the table with two steaming cups in front of her.

Seeing him step through the door, she pulled herself to her feet and filled a couple of bowls with a brownish glob. Jack sat down. His relationship with porridge wasn't a particularly loving one. His mother as well as his first wife had insisted on feeding it to him most mornings as they'd believed it to be the nutritious meal he needed. Jack had never had the heart to point out that he'd have rather found his nutrients in a piece of toast.

His stomach reminded him that it wasn't the time to be choosy. Phryne had made him breakfast rather than sulking, that was something not be spat at, considering he had simply ignored her wishes. Jack was determined not to show her that he wanted nothing more than to stay home, preferably in bed with her, a good book and a cup of tea, until his head stopped feeling like someone had stuffed it with cotton wool. He had a job to do and he would do it. The quicker he managed to find Sanderson's man, the faster he could take Phryne back to St. Kilda. Bravely he picked up his spoon and tried his breakfast. After a day of hardly any food, the mess of shredded oats tasted heavenly.

His wife was pale, Jack realised, when he looked up. But she smiled and also started eating as if she was also trying to hide just how she felt. The Inspectors heart ached. He wanted to apologise for keeping her awake, for not finding the right words to soothe her dark memories away, for having dragged her into this mess in the first place. But nothing would come to his foggy mind. So he just ate his porridge in silence.

“You've cleaned up,” Phryne finally said, her voice unreadable. 

Jack nodded, his mouth full.

“So I did,” he smiled, after swallowing. 

“You didn't have to, Jack,” she said. Her husband glanced at her in confusion. He hadn't missed the hint of blame swinging in her voice. She smiled a wry smile. “But thank you.” 

Jack nodded lightly, still not sure what that had been about.

Phryne watched her husband finish his breakfast like a starving man, stifling a cough here and there. Guilt announced itself, mixing with her annoyance. Of course, it was completely impossible for Jack Robinson to come home like a normal tired human being and just get some rest. He was bound to save the world first, even if it just rode on some dirty dishes.

Mrs. Robinson was quite aware that she was being unjust. Jack was trying to deal with their grim situation as well as he could manage. Not a word of complaint had slipped over his lips about the mess she had left for him and she guessed she should have been grateful. But she wasn't. He was not her butler but her husband, and she didn't need him to clean up after her, working himself into a state of fatigue that she then had to worry about. God, how she hated his lack of reason when it came to his own health! Vexed, she collected the empty bowls from the table, when suddenly a hand snatched up her wrist, Jack turning her to face him.

“Phryne?” he asked, his voice thick with worry. 

His wife realised that there were angry tears in her eyes. Her first impulse was to brush him off but his intense, grey eyes holding her gaze, wouldn't let her do that. But then again, her throat was too tight to say anything. So she just froze, starring back at him in defiance.

“Phryne,” he said again, getting up and pulling her close. Reluctantly she allowed him to, then struggled out of his arms before he had a chance to suffocate all of her annoyance with his warmth. 

“You need to take better care of yourself, Jack. I can't always be there to save you!” she said and regret her choice of words the same moment. Even though he didn't move, she could feel him withdrawing. 

“Right,” he finally said. “A perfectly good point.” 

Phryne wasn't sure if his voice was rough with his cold or suppressed emotion, but she was quite certain that he had misunderstood her, causing in her the desire to set him straight. But there was still anger raging all through her stomach that made her fear, she would make matters worse if she tried. So she just watched him in silence as he put on his coat and hat, interrupted by another coughing fit.

“I'll see you in the afternoon. Try to not get us into trouble,” he smiled, kissing her on the forehead, where she still stood, silently. Then he was gone and Phryne continued to collect their dishes with the sinking feeling that she had just broken something. 

 

X

 

 

An impatient knock at the door ripped Mr. Butler from his sweet dreams. Startled, he blinked into the morning light, before inspecting his alarm clock. A second later he was standing beside the bed in his Pyjamas. Dear God, he had slept in! That hadn't happened to him in over 20 years and he couldn't remember...

Of course. When he had stumbled up the stairs sometime around two in the morning, with too much champagne and too much happiness to be held by a single head, he had simply fallen into bed, without setting his alarm. How very embarrassing and what a lucky coincidence that his Mistress wasn't home to witness this. Her daughter however was currently belting against his door and there was faint giggling to be heard from the other side.

“Good morning, Mr. Butler,” Jane quipped, when he finally pulled the offending piece of wood open to face her and his slip-up. Behind her, with a mild smile to her face, stood Dorothy, a washing basket in hand. 

“I am truly embarrassed, Miss Jane,” Tobias began. “I'm not sure what happened-” 

“No time for apologies, Mr. B,” the girl cut him off. “It is almost 9 o'clock and we need to leave and find Lucy.” 

Mr. Butler stared at her in confusion.

“I was of the belief that we had exhausted all possibilities yesterday?” he asked after a beat. “Has any new information come through?”

“Not quite, Mr. B. But I will tell you in the car. Please do hurry!” Jane laughed, already on the way back to her own room. The butler looked at Dot, who smiled at him. 

“I fear she had a revelation last night.” 

“Ahh,” Mr. Butler made. “Well, we certainly wouldn't want to let that go to waste,” he grinned on afterthought, and retreated to get dressed. 

 

X

 

Mrs. Robinson found her inner balance in a hot bowl of water, while soaking their breakfast dishes. During cleaning up the washhouse and dumping some buckets of water into the privy, she had come to a conclusion. She would corner Jack in the afternoon, clear the air and straighten all crossed wires. She was certain by now, that he had gotten her meaning completely and utterly wrong this morning - which she grumpily admitted, was mostly her own fault. Jack had never been weak, yet right now she needed him to be strong, simply because she wasn't. Phryne felt overwhelmed - overrun by memories and fears that she had all but forgotten. In the light of this it was probably not particularly helpful to berate him for trying to take weight off her shoulders. 

A cup slipped through her fingers and fell into the washing bowl, splashing her with soapy water. Cursing, Phryne took a step backwards and  tried to  brush the drops of her blouse that hadn't soaked straight in. 

“Don't you dare laugh at me,” she warned Albert, who was looking at her smugly. The spider just shook his head, slowly crawling to a further edge of the window frame. 

“Why would I do that?” a friendly voice behind her asked, causing her to jump. She turned to look at Adelheid, who had the decency to look embarrassed to have barged into her house without knocking. 

“I'm sorry, but your door was open,” she said in way of explanation, before Phryne had had time to make up her mind whether to be angry or swallow down her annoyance. That would explain the cold draft Mrs. Robinson had blamed on the flimsy build of the house, but intensified her worry. Jack not pulling the door shut properly didn't bode well for his state of mind. His habit of fleeing when he got hurt or confused was thoroughly infuriating, even though she knew that he had been late for work in the end. 

“Please come in,” Phryne said, trying to keep her voice level, when she realised, that her neighbour was still waiting in the door. Just then her eyes fell on the bin on the floor beside her working bench. Gently she nudged it behind the firewood, hoping to hide the fact that the disgusting cake had come to an untimely end. She turned and found to her relief that Adelheid Willis wasn't watching her at all, but instead busy sitting down the same basket on her lap as yesterday. Phryne feared another round of well intentioned home made goods, but decided that she would deal with the problem once it was revealed. 

“Do you mind me finishing?” she asked, offering a seat. “I am almost done.” 

“Oh please, don't worry about me,” Adelheid laughed. “I just sent my children off to school and decided to drop by. Your Jack sounded terrible last night, I thought. So I brought some remedies. The factory work is hard on him, is it?” 

Phryne smiled thinly, wiping her wet hands on a dish towel.

“It certainly isn't what I was wishing for him,” she admitted honestly, sitting down across the other woman. “But he's got to do what he must.” 

A warm hand was laid over hers and Phryne started. So it was that obvious, was it?

“He'll be just fine, trust me,” Adelheid said, her rather beautiful eyes turning serious. “When my Terry started working, he was sore for a month and he'd come home every night complaining. But he's gotten over it. Now it's just a job.” 

Mrs. Robinson nodded solemnly. The idea of her husband getting used to being a human machine exploited for profit, didn't comfort her in the slightest.  The clever, funny, wonderful Jack, trapped in a mindless job full of nothingness.  Of course, the chance s were slim. They would find the Grog Baron, Sanderson was after and then they'd return home to Jane and Dot and Hugh and Mr. Butler and the Cabbies. She really missed even Cec and Bert,  Phryne realised with a start. Adelheid's fingers tightened around her hand, before she suddenly withdrew. 

“Now, no time for sad faces, Fanny. I brought you some things to fix up that man of yours and then things will get easier.” 

“That's lovely of you.” 

Another forced smile. Phryne  really  was getting the hang of this f riendly neighbourly chatting. Quite simple really. 

What if they would never find the man? She hadn't figured out anything yet, nothing at all. And Jack was only chasing after some vague rumours. What if they were stuck here? Of course, they could always leave, the rational part of her brain protested. But the little Phryne in her, the one that was scared out of her mind right now, wasn't sure if it was that easy at all. Their investigation hadn't brought any results of yet and Sanderson could probably force them to stay here forever. A second later, everything changed.

Adelheid took the cloth off the basket, revealing a colourful collection of items. Mrs. Robinson spotted a half empty jar of honey, some suspicious looking herbs and bottle of cough syrup. But the first thing Adelheid pulled from the basket's midst was a big brown bottle, without any label.

“This should fix him up in no time at all,” she prompted, while Phryne curiously took the medicine from her hands and removed the cork to take a whiff. It was exactly what she had expected and her eyes squeezed shut on their own accord. 

“Bootleg?” she asked. Adelheid laughed. “Nah, this is better. This stuff's purely Collingwood. It's strong, so don't give him much. But it will scare every illness straight out of here.” 

Phryne laughed and this time it was real. Adelheid laughed along, even though she had no idea, why her opposite looked quite so happy.

 

X

 

Hugh Collins walked through the Station door with blurry eyes. It was barely 10 o'clock and he hadn't gone to sleep until 4.30, but the young girl soaked in her own blood wouldn't let him get any more rest. With a quick greeting, he walked past Jones, who was currently holding down the front desk, picked up a dark green folder and slammed the door of Inspector Robinson's office shut behind himself. Silence welcomed the Constable and specks of dust glittering in the sparse light falling through the closed window. Hugh had had a realisation last night. What the DI would want him to do right now, was not bide his time while he was gone and wait for his return. He'd tell him to step up to the plate and be a proper help to Inspector Morgan. And somewhere around 7 am, when Hugh had been wakened by Dottie crawling out of bed as quietly as possible, he had realised, that that was exactly what he was going to do.

So what if half the town was laughing at him? He had helped bring a serial-killer down. Surely it didn't matter, how exactly that had happened. And he would make certain that Inspector Robinson's name would stay clear from everything that had to do with the “Butcher”-Case. While Hugh really thought that all praise was due to the Robinsons for their hard work and the great risk they had taken, he had to agree with Mr. Butler. It was too dangerous right now to throw any twilight on the Inspector. The Constable vividly remembered the day last autumn, when his superior officer had dropped off the edge of the planet. And the sight that had greeted him upon stepping through the door into the basement of the Browning mansion after they had finally found the place that DI Robinson was held in, had burned itself into his brain, never to be forgotten.

Hugh had spent the rest of the day, the following night and the next two days interviewing people, comforting the crying Dottie and waiting. He couldn't remember ever having waited this hard in his life. It had been more than uncertain if the Inspector would ever wake up again. When his fever had finally broken and Doctor Mac had announced that he'd pull through to the collection of people assembled at Sanderson's house, Hugh had come to a decision of his own. A week later, over lunch, he had explained to his mother that he was in love with a Catholic girl and intended to marry her. Life was too short to waste it on compromises.

Hugh had never talked about that time with anyone, least of all the Inspector himself. He felt that nobody wanted to mention it. Almost as if, as long as nobody said it out loud, it hadn't really occurred at all. They all just happened to have had the same nightmare. Hugh had no desire to stir up the doubtlessly painful memories of everybody involved. But the pictures were burned into his mind and they would stay there for the rest of life.

So, no matter how many people would laugh at him, he would do anything to keep Elaine Browning safely locked up for remainder of her existence. If she was hanged or not, he couldn't really bring himself to care much about. Hugh wasn't a great supporter of killing people, just or not. But that she didn't walk free, mattered a great deal to him.

The papers started to print more and more stories that cast doubt whether Jack Robinson had been kidnapped at all. Maybe Sanderson had made the whole thing up, they said, to get rid of his predecessor. After all it was more than convenient that his son-in-law of all people would be his main witness, a victim and the investigating police officer all at once. Hugh couldn't help but wonder if Sanderson had made the right decision by sending the DI away just now. It was politics, all politics. And he didn't know anything about that.

But he did know his police work, the Constable decided and sitting down behind the  Inspector's desk, he flipped open the missing persons folder. He only reached page three, before the door was opened. 

“Here you are, Constable,” Morgan said mildly. “Have you found our girl yet?” 

Collins looked up and shook his head.

“I'm afraid I've only just begun, Inspector. But I will find her.” 

In the same moment, there was a knock at the other door. Jones pushed his head through the gap, as if he needed to beg permission to enter the office, even though Collins was of the same rank. It was a somewhat awkward situation and Hugh almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“What is it, Jones?” he asked, before he could stop himself. 

“There is a young man here. I think you might want to speak to him.” 

 


	13. Mars

“Would ya mind coughin' in the other direction, son? Can't afford to get sick.” 

The advice wasn't given in a very friendly voice and the old man didn't look up from his work for a second.

“Sorry,” Jack rasped, trying to cover his mouth with a handkerchief. Sweat was pouring down his temples and his whole body ached somewhere between frozen and glowing. Jack cursed himself for his stubbornness. Perhaps Phryne was right and it was insanity to attempt drawing information from the pale faces around him since everybody was just trying to get through this day without losing their jobs and starving their families. Even if they knew something, how should he ask them? He was fairly certain that Inspector Robinson usually just made up something, but as things stood, he couldn't manage to form a clear thought in his foggy head. 

“Cut him some slack, Nichols'n,” came a voice to his rescue. “Can't you tell he's in a rotten state?” 

Jack glanced at his knight in shin ing armour. He was impressively tall, but the lack of front teeth probably wouldn't have convinced the average princess.  Wesley Miller gave the Inspector a terrifying half smile, without stopping to work. 

“Exactly my point,” the old man grumbled. 

“I remember you coughin' ya lungs out last winter, Grumps,” Wenbrock said from the other side. “An' noone gave ya a hard time 'bout it.” 

“Yeah, and who'd given me that cold, huh?” 

“Guys, guys, don't start fighting!” 

Mike's voice was so friendly, that Jack felt almost confused, when nobody protested. Instead, silence fell, while plenty of hands kept working. It gave the Inspector time to ponder the awkward conversation with Phryne over breakfast. He couldn't deny that her words had cut him. His anger had also returned  with full force. Both emotions, together with the fact that he  had been running late, had caused him to leave in a hurry; but looking back, he felt like he'd made a mistake.  The more he reran the scene in his mind, the more he started wondering, if she was right? Had he grown overly accostumed to her protecting him, soothing his wounds, holding his hand? She had done an awful lot of all three over the last year and Jack had  never stopped to question it. He had always considered it an intimate act, born out of love, not a gracious gift. Yet, could he really blame her if she had grown tired of “saving him”? He had no answer for that. 

Phryne was under enormous strain herself right now. While she hadn't uttered a word of complaint after their first night, he could  sense that she was miserable. And as much as he wanted to, he just couldn't manage to get her out of here and bring her back to her safe, warm house and her silk sheets. Not without getting further in his investigation and right now, his cold stopped him from even trying to be clever. 

In frustration, Jack threw down the pile of leather he had been working on and walked off, mumbling something about having to use the bathroom. A pair of eyes followed him until he reached the door.

With pins and needles, his frozen toes came back to life, as the Inspector stalked across the yard, his fists shoved down his pockets. He didn't need to go, really just longed for some fresh air, in a futile attempt to clear his fuzzy brain. His nose had started to run over the last two hours, which didn't boost his mood in the slightest. In quick resolve Jack hid behind the outhouse and lit himself a cigarette. It wouldn't improve his cold and probably get him fired if he was caught, but right now, he couldn't get himself to care. The more he thought about it, the more obvious it became that the whole undercover job was a terrible idea and bringing Phryne the worst of all. Even though, a tiny voice in his head said, without her, this place would be hell.

But so was watching her slowly turning into a shadow of her usual self. Jack just didn't know what to do about it, only that he was failing her. It was true, she had rescued him on a hundred occasions and now that it was time to return the favour, he couldn't seem to find the right words and gestures anymore.

His  lungs responded to the thick smoke with another coughing attack, but after a few drags, Jack began to feel calmer, while he sorted through the mess of thoughts in his head. 

Maybe it was the most sensible decision to call the whole thing off. But that would also mean for Phryne to give up on just wandering into the Station. George would go through with his threat; Jack knew him well enough to expect nothing less from him. So  the Inspector would just have to get on with it, runny nose and hammering head or not. He was only hoping that Phryne would hang in there long enough, so the Chief Commissioner could get what he wanted. 

Still annoyed, Jack dropped his stub and rubbed it out on the icy ground. It wasn't the first one there, so he probably had found the secret hide away of the not-so-well behaved.  He had just started heading back across the yard to return the making room, before he would get into any more trouble, when he heard the sobbing.  He glanced briefly at the door  leading into  the suspiciously quiet factory, then turned towards the small shed, where he suspected the person behind the tears was hiding. He found her sitting on the ice cold floor, her skirt wrapped around her bluish legs, shivering – and crying. 

Jack wondered what to say. Asking her if she was alright seemed rather pointless, she quite obviously was far from that. So instead he dug through his pockets, looking for an unused handkerchief. He finally found one that was still folded and offered it to the young woman, who started. Instead of taking the piece of cloth from his hands, she wiped her nose with her sleeve, before glancing up at him.

“What'd ya want?” she asked. Something about her belied her behaviour. There was an accent to her voice that didn't quite go with the slang she was attempting and the tears colouring her voice stood in stark contrast to her defiance. The Inspector waited for a moment, unsure what to do. Of course, he should go inside, he wasn't wanted here. But Jack Robinson could manage to walk away from many things - a woman crying wasn't one of them. 

So instead he crouched down beside her, leaning his back against the freezing metal of the shed. The notion that Phryne would kill him if she knew,  scittered through his head. The girl didn't seem to care, she was too busy sobbing. 

“What's your name?” Jack asked. 

“Who wants to know?” the woman sniffed. 

“Jack Turner. I'm am new here.” 

“Yeah, I guessed.” 

She looked up, tears filling the big muddy pools of grey-green in her eyes. Her next grimace could have been a smile.

“The ones that've been workin' here for a while, couldn't be buggered askin'.” 

Jack nodded, without responding, instead offering his handkerchief again. This time it was taken and blown into noisily. She didn't hand it back, which made him feel rather grateful.

“Natalija,” she finally said. 

“Pleased to meet you,” Jack said, which earned him a lopsided smile.

“Nah, you're not. You'd rather be inside,” she stated matter-of-factly. 

“Actually, I'd rather be anywhere but inside,” Jack grinned. “But since I am here already, I propose, you tell me the reason for your tears.” 

There was silence for a long moment, while Natalija battled with herself if she should share her problem with a total stranger. The Inspector could hear his teeth chatter ing.

“I'm in the pudding club, aren't I,” she finally stated quietly. Jack was so busy trying to decipher her accent, that the words didn't sink in at first. Then his eyes widened in surprise. 

“And the man?” he asked. The woman shrugged. 

“Wanted to get hooked, changed his mind,” she admitted. The Inspector had trouble suppressing the curse lying on his tongue. 

In the same moment, someone looking vaguely like a woman came storming around the corner.

“What the heck ya think you'r' doin' here, Nowak? There is work waitin' inside, while you sit round here on the floor! Gonna catch yourself death.” 

She threw a glare at Jack before pulling the girl onto her feet and ushering her back inside. Jack couldn't shake the vague feeling that he might get blamed for Natalija's pudding-situation, if this made the round. Hopefully, by the time it showed, he would be back in St. Kilda, far, far away from here. The Inspector felt oddly guilty about this thought. A heavy hand fell onto his shoulder, before he could question this emotion, making him jump.

“There ya are, Turner. You better come inside, before Reynolds does his rounds. He's not overly active on Saturdays, but you don't wanna cross him the wrong way, trust me.” 

Jack got up, brushing some dirt off his shoulder and mumbled an apology for leaving his fellow workers alone, when Carter cut him off.

“Don't worry bout it, man, we all have bad days. But we don't wanna get in trouble, so you better get inside and pretend it never happened.” 

Obediently the Inspector followed him inside. Nobody looked up, when he returned to his spot.

“Dropping out and expectin' to be paid, huh? Think ya special, son?” Nicholson grumbled after a minute of nobody saying a word. Jack felt his temper flare, despite or possibly because of the knowledge that the old man wasn't wrong. 

“Shut your trap, Gramp!” Mike's voice was hardly audible, but so cold, that the Inspector winced. It had the required effect. Seconds later, Brad Reynolds walked past them, threw a quick look at their work, barked some orders and vanished again. Jack realised that he had been holding his breath, which his lungs protested with a cough. 

“Almost got us into nasty trouble there, Turner,” Cromms said quietly, shoving a shoe into his hand. 

“That was not my intention,” Jack answered calmly, once he could breath again. To his surprise and relief, nobody dug further into the subject. While his fingers worked, Jack thought of Natalija, then of Collins and his wife. How different the world waiting for a child could be. It seemed unfair. He suddenly longed so much to talk to Phryne that he couldn't wait a minute longer to go home. She of all people would understand, he knew. Nobody understood quite like Phryne. 

 

X

 

Mr. Butler glanced at the girl walking beside him. There was a bounce in her step that made her dress flutter in the cool Autumn wind. Jane was studying the facades of the small houses they passed. Finally she stopped infront of a green fence.

“Number 53. This is it,” she announced proudly. Mr. Butler smiled. 

“Would you like to tell me, just how you figured this out?” he asked. 

“Easy,” the young woman said, nonchalantly, pushing the gate open that gave way with a nasty squeak. “I realised that there was not a single picture hanging on the DeWitt's walls, so it occurred to me, that they might have moved recently. Their things hadn't yet found their place.” 

“So, this is where they used to live?” Tobias asked, trailing behind the enthusiastic girl and praying, that her instinct was right. He flinched, when Jane all but belted down the door. Only seconds later a young blonde woman answered, smiling at the intruders, showing off a row a sparkling white teeth behind her red lipstick. 

“Can I help?” she asked, when neither of them spoke for a moment. Jane glanced at her 'governess', then decided that it was her own responsibility. 

“Ma'am, I am sorry to intrude, but have you found a dog in this house by chance?” 

The young woman seemed confused for a moment, then the smile was back, lighting up the  veranda  like a small sun. 

“Please do come in. I assumed you would be missing her!” 

She stepped aside and called in to the back. 

Seconds later a light brown bundle of fur shot past her,  on a mission  to inspect the visitors. Before Jane could stop her, she had jumped up and licked once across  the teenager 's face. Jane managed in time to squeeze her eyes shut, before she got a rough tongue bath. The still nameless lady laughed. 

“I'm so sorry, she is terribly badly behaved. Though I do guess that would be more your fault than mine. She showed up in the garden three days ago and could not be convinced to leave. So we just took her in and spread the word, hoping that someone would come for her. And here you are.” 

Jane managed to calm the excited dog down enough to return to the floor, where she ran circles around Mr. Butlers legs.

“Actually, she is not our dog,” he explained. The smile on the woman's face faded, making room for confusion. 

“But we do know where she belongs,” Jane cut in, before things could take a turn for the worse. 

“And your Mistress actually misses you very, very much, Lucy,” she said tenderly, rubbing the bitch behind her ears. A pair of big brown eyes focused on her, almost as if the dog understood. 

“So, you are friends of her owner then?” the lady of the house asked, watching the strange girl patting the dog who had started to grow on her and her husband, with a mixture of feelings. 

“Not quite,” Mr. Butler started, but didn't get any further. 

“We are private detectives, you might say,” Jane grinned. Both adults stared at her, but neither had the heart to protest, while Lucy again started covering the girl's face in saliva. 

 

 

X

 

Mrs. Turner was meanwhile in the best of moods. After a lengthy chat with Adelheid she had found new hope. And once Jack would hear of her progress, he would probably forget her little slip of the tongue. Things were looking up. Now she only needed to get him back into shape for the investigations awaiting them. A spring in her step, Phryne wandered down Smith Street, once again pushing open the door to Mr. Banning's little shop. The owner wasn't in today, but instead a young lady, who shared a slight resemblance with him. Phryne was greeted with a friendly smile and little later she walked back onto the street, her basket filled satisfyingly. Wandering along the pavement, she enjoyed the autumn sun falling onto her face and the mumbling of women and men rushing around, trying to find their own goods. The smell of apples drew her to the street display of a green grocer, the glossy red fruit reminding her of her brief journey into the world of fruit farming at the estate of Jack's family in Daylesford. She picked up one, holding it to her nose and feeling like Eve in paradise.

“You gonna buy that, dear? 'Cause I don't think people will appreciate you sticking it in your face otherwise.” 

Phryne started, then turned to look at an old woman, so covered in wrinkles that she blended in with her lettuce, smiling at her kindly, despite the harsh words.

“I'll have three of them, please,” she said, skilfully hiding her embarrassment. “I also need some carrots if you have and celery.” 

While the elderly woman picked up what she needed, Phryne had another look around, tempted to pick out more fruit, before she stopped herself. Buying too many things would not only make it a terrible strain to carry her groceries home, it would also not convince her neighbours of her supposed poverty. She handed the lady two oranges and an onion to add to her groceries and walked away happily with her treasures. The basket was quite heavy by now, but nevertheless she called into a butcher. She was inspecting the naked chickens hanging up on their feet behind the counter, when she heard a male voice beside her.

“Phryne?” 

She turned. A skinny man stood in front of her. Phryne placed him instantly. There were faces in the world you just couldn't forget.

“Phryne Fisher?” he asked. “I almost didn't recognise you - you have grown up a fair bit since I last saw you.” 

Mrs. Robinson's heart was beating in her ears. What could she do? Ignore him? Hardly. But celebrate a reunion was much too dangerous in the current situation.

“I'm sorry?” she said, shaking her head slowly. “I believe this is a misunderstanding.”

The man's face fell.

“Eddie Wenbrock?” You don't remember me?” 

“I'm terribly sorry,” Phryne repeated. “I don't think we've ever met. I only just moved here with my husband. Fanny Turner.” 

She extended her hand. The man stared at her critically for a moment, before accepting the offered gesture.

“My apologies,” he mumbled. “I truly thought you are an old friend from school days.” 

Phryne felt terrible. She had always liked “Lanky Eddie” and she was quite certain that Janey had had a little crush on him at some point. In fact, she would have loved to have a tea with him and remember their school time, share their memories of her little sister. But she couldn't. It was too dangerous. Mechanically she made her order with the butcher's wife and waited, while Eddie bought his rabbit from  the  butcher's daughter. Before leaving, Wenbrock turned. 

“Fanny Turner, you say? Not Jack Turner's wife, is it?” 

Phryne, who had just been busy, trying to nestle the small chuck between the other groceries, looked up.

“You know Jack?” 

“Working with him at James & Willerson's,” Eddie beamed. “Just knocked off actually and I'd better get on my way home. It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Turner. I think our Jack might be a lucky fellow.” 

He lifted his hat at her and gave her a good natured wink, before disappearing. Phryne couldn't help but smile. She really always had liked Eddie.


	14. Relativity

Phryne's feet had sped up on their way home to their little cottage. The afternoon sun, illuminating the colouring trees along the streets, did it's best to warm her face and the meeting with Eddie Wenbrock had left her strangely happy. No, not all of her memories were terrible ones. Maybe, once this was over she could have a cup of tea with him. If he still wanted to while she was not living in Collingwood and wearing a brown cotton skirt. That thought should have dampened her enthusiasm, but strangely it didn't. Jack was probably on his way home as well right now, and truthfully she couldn't wait to talk to him. Also, there was a promise she was going to hold him to – and not only to sleep. Grinning, she all but skipped down the pavement, when loud shouting caused her to stop. A familiar male figure stood in front of a small cottage, trying currently to protect his face from an item being thrown at him. The pot bounced of his arm and onto the cobbles with loud clattering.

“Mrs. Kerby, I need to talk to you.” 

Something else flew. The man in the black uniform caught the broom with his hand.

“Will you please stop throwing things at me, I just want to talk!” 

There was silence, for a long moment. Then a head popped through the offending window.

“Nothin' I wanna talk about with a copper. Especially not 'bout my girl!” 

The cloth following her words sailed weakly down at Constable Collins feet. Hugh was wondering what to do. He was  fairly certaint that Inspector Robinson would have fixed this easily. He  himself , however, couldn't even get through the door. A hand picked up the cleaning cloth, holding it out to the policeman. 

“Do you require help, Constable?” a smiling voice asked. 

“Mrs. Ro...? Thank you, Ma'am.” Hugh cleared his throat and whispered. “She won't talk to me, I tried everything. Even begging.” 

Phryne pulled her lips into a thoughtful gesture.

“Why do you wish to talk to her?” 

“I believe we found her daughter, dead, Mrs... Ma'am.” 

“Well, there's your answer, why she won't listen. Nobody wants to receive a message like that.” 

The Constable nodded grimly.

“It's not going to go away by her ignoring it though.” 

Mrs. Robinson hummed thoughtful agreement, then shoved the basket at Collins and stepped towards the door.

“Mrs. Kerby? It's Fanny Turner from across the street. Please open up.” 

After a long moment, a bolt was removed and the door slowly opened. A woman with a half undone dark hairdo appeared. Her skin looked as grey as her blouse. For a long moment, the two women looked at each other, then Mrs. Kerby retreated, letting her guest into the house. Phryne waved a the Constable to follow. Hugh scrambled after the two women into the kitchen. A thick fog of food was hanging in the air and he almost fell over a child crawling on the floor. It laughed at him, completely undisturbed by the grim message he bore.

The woman waved a grey hand at the table for them to sit down. Hugh did as he was told, even though, now he was in, he longed to be back outside. Then she sat down herself, locking her arms in defiance of what was to come. Hugh set down his hat, collecting his thoughts.

“Mrs. Kerby, we had a visit to the station this morning by a Josh Colbert.”

“The little cad!” the woman spat. 

“He said, your daughter Helen, she has gone missing?” Hugh asked, ignoring her burst out. Phryne watched the scene unfold quietly. She was quite sure, that there was a child drooling onto her foot, but right now, she didn't have any head to be disgusted. 

“She's just stayed out overnight. She'll be back.” The woman kneaded her hands on the tabletop. “She'll be back,” she repeated in resistance of the news. 

“I'm so sorry, Mrs. Kerby. But I believe, we found her dead last night near Collins Bridge. Mr. Colbert has identified her.” 

The woman shook her head.

“That's not true,” she said. “You're lying. Coppers always lie!” 

“I'm afraid it is,” Hugh said, looking at her with huge, sincere eyes. Even Mrs. Kerby could not imagine this man pulling a cruel joke on her. 

“It's not true,” she repeated, staring at Phryne, who reached out and grabbed her hand. 

“I'm terribly sorry,” the lady detective whispered, her eyes filling with tears. Her opposite still seemed to be unwilling to believe what she couldn't deny any longer. 

“But my Helen was hardly 19,” she said, “she was in the family way too, wanted to get married. She can't just die like that!” 

While she started crying, Hugh fiddled with his collar. Phryne stared at him, the truth dawning on her. There was more to this and it wasn't pretty.

“Ma'am, as things stand it doesn't look like she just died 'like that'.” 

Hugh gulped. Now Phryne felt the want to hold his hand, but that would have been rather odd for someone she had just met for the first time five minutes ago. Bravely the Constable pushed on.

“The Coroner believes, she has tried to... get rid of her troubles, Ma'am.” 

The woman's head rose in shock, a hand flying up to her mouths. Phryne's grip around her hand tightened, hoping that she wouldn't jump up to strangle the traitorous copper any moment.

“But... my Helen wanted the kid. Josh was gonna marry her.” 

Constable Collins swallowed. He knew what Colbert had told him an hour ago. That he couldn't have married Helen, his father wouldn't have allowed it. And that he had told her just that the last time he saw her, before she had disappeared. He had had troubles to keep himself from punching the man for not standing up for his  mistakes , but right now he feared  that he was going to cause a murder if he told the whole story. 

“I'm sorry, Ma'am, that's what the Coroner says.” 

“So, someone butchered my girl?!”

Hugh and Phryne traded a look.

“We believe so, Ma'am.” 

Mrs. Kerby jumped to her feet.

“So, what are ya sittin' in my kitchen for? Get out there and find the scoundrel who's done it.” 

The kid underneath the table started to cry as if it had finally understood that something terrible had happened. The crying mother pulled  him out and hugged the little boy tightly to her chest. The Constable and Mrs. Robinson rose in unison, upset, but glad to escape. 

“Good day, Ma'am,” Hugh said. 

“Hardly,” the woman grumbled, without looking at him. At the door Phryne picked up her basket that had been left on the floor. One of the apples had a child sized bite taken out of it. Gently, Phryne laid the piece of fruit onto the kitchen table before leaving the house. Under the howling of the boy and the gentle berating of his mother, they stepped back out into the bright sunlight. 

“So, your coroner is certain that she died of an abortion, Hugh?” Phryne asked quietly, while they stood, rather shaken, staring into the street. 

“We found her wrapped in a blood-soaked bedsheet,” the Constable answered, keeping his voice low. “Her fiance had broken off the engagement yesterday.” 

“Coward! Any evidence to where she came from?” 

“None.” 

There was silence for a long moment.

“Is everybody alright at home?” Phryne whispered. 

“Perfectly fine, Ma'am.” 

Mrs. Robinson smiled.

“Keep it that way, will you?” 

“I will try my hardest, Ma'am.” 

A curious head was stuck out the window on the opposite side of the road and Mrs. Robinson realised that it was time to move or they would start to look awkward. Luckily, Hugh had the same thought.

“Thank you for your help again, Ma'am,” he said loud enough for the whole street to hear. “I am not certain, if she would have let me in without your interference.” 

“Just being a good neighbour,” Phryne answered. “It's too tragic. The poor woman.” 

She shook her head in sorrow.

“Good day, Constable.” 

She turned on her heels and stalked off, feeling the loss of a chance to reconnect with home, with Jane and Dot, in her heart. But it was calming to know that they were safe. And Jack should be back from work by now, waiting for her return. She had plenty to tell him.

When she pushed through the door only a few seconds later, she found the Inspector  at the table, flicking through a newspaper. He looked up, smiling, when she entered, then rose to take the basket from her hands. 

“Emptying the shops, Miss Fisher?” he asked grinning. “I was wondering what took you so long, but this explains it.” 

Phryne sank onto a chair, watching as he unpacked the goods. He looked positively haggard, she noticed with concern, but right now, she didn't want to start another argument. There was also an empty plate sitting on the table, a promising trail of breadcrumbs strewn over it's surface. So he had been listening after all.

“Actually, I just stumbled into Hugh and a murder,” she said. Jack stopped in the middle of detangling the carrots from the celery and turned. 

“How is it, that murder follows you everywhere, Miss Fisher?” 

Phryne grinned and shrugged.

“Poor girl across the street bled to death after someone attempted to get her out of the pudding club with the help of a sharp object.” 

The phrase caused Jack's memories of his talk with Natalija to resurface. He sat down.

“An abortion racket?” he asked. 

“Looks like we got another one on our hands,” Phryne sighed. “And little we can do about it while we are playing Mr. and Mrs. Undercover.” 

“The girl across the street? Three houses down?” Jack asked, the eavesdropped words from the other night returning and making him shiver. He had been wrong. There had been murder lurking. 

“Her sweetheart got cold feet, it appears.” 

“So her mother was correct in thinking that he wasn't marriage material,” Jack mumbled darkly, then turned away to sneeze. Noticing Phryne's curious look, he explained in brief words what he had witnessed. She wrapped her fingers around his wrist, where his pulse was beating a tad too fast. 

“You couldn't have known,” she said gently. Jack looked at her, less surprised than he should have been. Phryne had mastered the art of reading his thoughts some time ago. Carefully, he peeled her fingers from his arm and rose to finish the unpacking. 

“Oh, there is some news to our sly booze case as well,” Phryne casually stated, while picking up his paper. “I had another chat with your friend Adelheid this morning.” 

Jack swallowed down a cough, before answering.

“Phryne, I am not certain if this contact is well advised. I know you said she didn't recognise me, but she might eventually. And if she does, it could endanger everything.” 

His wife didn't look up, seemingly enthralled in the paper.

“I don't think it will be easy to avoid her dropping by. She does live next door and is determined to be a good neighbour. In fact, her visit this morning was very interesting.” 

Turning her attention back to her husband, she found Jack holding up the raw chicken by it's neck, staring at it in disgust.

“Are you battling the urge to burst into Hamlet, Jack?” Phryne smirked. 

“I am merely wondering what you're dinner plans are entailing. You were saying?” 

“Adelheid happened to bring by a bottle of this this morning, as a remedy for you.” 

Saying this, Mrs. Robinson had slipped to her feet and fished the brown bottle from it's hiding place in the cabinet. Jack let his arm sink, seemingly forgetting about the chicken.

“Is that...?” 

“The potion of our Grog Baron,” finished Phryne happily. “She is still a little reluctant to tell me where she is getting it from, but I think I might be able to persuade her to share her little secret, given a little time. She is not exactly discretion itself.”

Jack nodded, dropping the chicken  onto a chopping board and wiped his hands on a towel, before sitting down. His eyes were burning and his head still throbbing, but currently he didn't want to succumb to the urge to collapse into bed, just yet. Thoughtfully he rolled the bottle between his hands.

“What makes you think that she knows where it's coming from?” 

“A little bird tweeted in my ear that Adelheid and her husband seem to have a little more money at their disposal than his job warrants.” 

“So, you believe, she is has joined the business?” Jack asked, unsure how to feel about this revelation. 

“Well, she wouldn't be the first. Children want to be fed. Her husband Terry is working up at Gabler's. They're not known to pay the world up there and the depression would have made it worse.” 

“There is other ways than selling illegal grog,” the Inspector prompted. 

“Is there, Jack?” 

He felt anger flare up, while she was glittering at him in defiance.

“There is laws for a reason, Phryne. And this,” he lifted the bottle, slamming it back down, “is poison.” 

“There is people starving here! Maybe the law should worry more about keeping those children fed than what their fathers drink. Then their mothers wouldn't have to sell sly grog for a living.” 

For a moment they glittered at each other angrily, until a sneeze ended their quiet stand-off.

“Excuse me,” Jack choked out, fiddling for a clean handkerchief. To his annoyance he found that they were all in an abominable state. His last good one had gone to Natalija. He needed to tell Phryne about her, he realised, needed to share what had left a dark feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

“Here,” his wife said, handing him a lacy piece that was definitely not his. Jack took it gratefully, as another sneeze cut through the kitchen. 

“Thank you,” he rasped. 

“I believe, Inspector, it is time to stand by your word.” 

He looked at her, his eyes watering. She seemed to have forgotten their flaring argument, instead there was a mixture of guilt and worry edged on her face that scared him. He opened his mouth to say something, even though his brain seemed to have returned to it's state of cotton wool stuffing within the last minute.

“Bed, Jack!” she said firmly, her expression changing and got up to stretch out her hand. Obediently he stood, realising he was still holding on to a bottle. 

“As long as you don't make me drink this,” he smirked, setting down the sly grog. “Anything you want, Miss Fisher.” 

There was a smile ghosting over her face that relieved him beyond measure, while he grasped her hand and let her pull him into the bedroom.

“Anything?” she asked, while she helped him get changed. He felt somewhat silly, being treated by her like a child. Also, this was dangerous territory, he realised. It was easy to be lulled in by her innocent demeanour, but she was Phryne after all. 

“Anything within reason, Miss Fisher,” he stated carefully. Her only answer was a mischievous smile. She gently pushed him down on the bed, but to his disappointment she retreated, pulling the covers up to his neck. 

“In that case, I demand that you attempt acting with some reason and stay in bed until you have regained your health.” 

Jack opened his mouth but was cut off before he could utter a syllable.

“And please do not try to argue this with me, Jack. I do know where you are hiding your handcuffs and I am not afraid to use them.” 

The Inspector felt his stomach flip at the blatant threat and the memories it woke. Falling into Phryne's hands when she felt particularly cheeky, was dangerous and also highly arousing. His reaction must have been obvious to her, as she grinned at him, already standing in the door.

“I will join you later, Jack,” she promised. “But first there are things to take care of. And you would do better in getting some rest,” she added, watching him stifle a yawn. 

“What exactly do those 'things' entail, Miss Fisher?” he asked, feeling heaviness crawl into every fibre of his body. It wasn't particularly calming for him to know her running about while he was asleep and unable to chase after her. But then, he did feel incredibly tired. 

“Oh, just a little harmless sleuthing,” she smiled. 

“Please be careful,” he begged of her, while his eyes fluttered shut. 

“Always am,” Phryne lied, stepping beside the bed and pressing a kiss to her husband's lip. Soft breathing was the only answer she got. Inspector Robinson was already asleep. 

 


	15. Sirius

 

Phryne slipped around the corner, careful to keep her boots from clacking on the cobbles. Gabler's Textiles lay quietly in the afternoon. So, maybe she had forgotten to mention this tiny little detail to Jack. Possibly even on purpose. It wasn't a lie as such. Adelheid really had been reluctant to share the origin of the brown bottle, but their neighbour wasn't overly good at keeping secrets and had given the game away without meaning to. Phryne had really intended to tell Jack straight when he got home, but then it hadn't come up – or so she told herself with little conviction . Mrs. Robinson knew that no cold in the world would have kept her husband in bed, had she shared her suspicion. 

So, here she was, glancing around a corner  near the back  gate  of the quiet factory. The workers had gone home some time ago, only a man with a dog in tow, was currently wandering over the yard. Phryne retreated behind the wall, when the beast turned a curious nose in her direction,  and tried to smell unthreatening. 

“Come on, Bessie,” the guard grumbled, when the dog halted, before obediently hurrying after his owner. Phryne sent a silent thank you to the animal. Both disappeared around the corner and silence settled back into the Saturday afternoon. Mrs. Robinson waited. For a long time, nothing happened – nothing at all. 

Phryne battled down her boredom. Maybe, she should have brought a book. Truthfully, the  detective  was quite aware that patience was not one of her many virtues. Her eyes started to wander, searching for some sort of amusement. 

The factory was built of the usual red brick seen anywhere in Collingwood. The sky stretching over it had turned a darker shade of blue, and the contrast with the glowing reds and yellows of the trees framing the street, was so beautiful, that Phryne forgot for a moment why she had come. Her attention was drawn straight back to the job on hand, when a wagon approached. She ducked deeper into her hiding place, holding her breath. The horses stopped only metres away from her in front of the gate. The driver climbed off, belting against the  metal bars . A little later, the grumpy guard reappeared, Bessie hot on his heels. 

“Be quiet, will ya?” he called across the yard. 

“Let me in then, man. I haven't got all day!” 

Grumbling, the guard unlocked the gate and soon the wagon was parked at the back entrance, where the driver left it for the moment, sharing his thoughts on a cup of tea with a third man who was inspecting the goods.

A lady detective looked with some disdain at the guard currently relocking the gate. She had hoped to slip in unnoticed, but that was probably not to be accomplished in the bright afternoon. She needed a closer look at those boxes,  she had spotted  on the wagon. Retreating, she followed the fence towards the side of the building. 

“No, the boss doesn't like us smoking. Too dangerous,” the third man currently explained to the driver. “You don't wanna set the whole damn thing on fire.” 

He had a point, Phryne concluded. If she was correct, he had a very good point indeed. But then, a factory receiving a delivery, even on a Saturday afternoon, was probably not all that strange. She needed to get in there and if there should be spools of thread in that wagon, she would call it a day and go home to crawl under the covers with Jack. Resolved to this, she inspected the fence. It wasn't high, but the spikes on the top weren't particularly comforting. Carefully she pulled herself up and almost slipped, swearing under her breath. Gently, she lifted herself over the dangerous pieces of cast iron, before jumping down on the other side. Her breath was ragged as if she had just  run a marathon. 

“Bessie, come back! Where do ya think ya're goin'?” 

The call startled her. Phryne pressed herself up against the wall, glancing at the fence. There was no way she would be able to climb back over there in time to escape the guard dog, if she decided to come find her. Mrs. Robinson wasn't scared of dogs, and she was quite certain she could deal with the elderly man following, but she didn't feel the need to be discovered snooping around today. Blowing their cover would really not do. Feverishly she thought  about her next step , when the dog appeared around the corner. It was of a dirty brown  colour , the hair a bit longer than it's breed warranted. Despite it's rather ragged appearance, the bitch had clever brown eyes that currently stared up at Phryne as if  the dog was  trying  to decide , if the intruder was a reason to alert her master or not. The lady detective could hear her heart pound in her ears, as she tried to withdraw into the wall. Seconds later, a wet nose was pushed into her palm. It tickled and Phryne suppressed a giggle. 

“Shhhs,” she whispered. 

The dog looked up at her, tilting her head.

“Don't give me away. I'll bring you some chicken tonight,” Phryne promised, smiling. 

Bessie whimpered quietly, considering this offer.

“Here, you bloody dog, where the hell are you?” a voice called, coming closer. Mrs. Robinson looked around, but there was nowhere to escape to without exposing herself in the bright daylight. A rough tongue flicked over her palm, then the dog finally seemed to have made up her mind and she scurried off. Fond scolding sounded seconds later and Phryne allowed herself to breath again. 

The voice retreated. Little later it was quiet again.

The detective peeled herself off the wall, casually slipping along the red brick and spying around the corner. None of the three men were to be seen. Only the horses whinnied impatiently, where they had been forgotten. Seconds later, one of them looked up startled, as a  lady's fingers gently patted its flank. They weren't often handled by soft  hands and the mare looked thoroughly confused as the figure, with a quiet curse, climbed up into the back  of the wagon. Phryne really longed for her trousers right now. Climbing over fences and boxes in a long skirt was not exactly a match made in heaven. The inside of the wagon was only illuminated by a glimpse of sunlight falling through  a slit in the covering and she grasped in the dark for the boxes, she had seen before. They were nailed shut. Listening to the outside that was still suspiciously quiet, she pulled up the hem of her skirt to reach for her knife. It took several minutes until the top finally gave way, but finally she stared at a collection of brown  cloth sacks. Carefully, she pierced a  tiny  hole into one of them and rubbed the brown crystals escaping  it between her fingers,  before smiling to herself. 

“I believe, Mr. Gabler, this is a little more than you need to stir into your employee's tea.” 

 

X

 

The key turned silently in the lock. A pair of sharp eyes glanced into the quiet kitchen, ran a gloved hand over a table that was half covered by a newspaper. A naked chicken lay  on a chopping board , waiting for its inevitable fate. 

The fat spider hanging in the window frame curiously glanced at the intruder, before deciding that a lost fly was a much more interesting subject. Expensive leather shoes moved over freshly scrubbed floor boards and pushed a door open that had only been pulled ajar. A man was lying on the bed, snoring quietly. He stirred, as if he could feel the pair of eyes lingering on him, coughing in his dreams. The intruder smiled.

Jack started awake, gasping for air, as a nasty cough shook him. His panicked eyes found only emptiness. He was alone. There was a cooling cup of tea sitting on his night stand though and he fished for it, greedily emptying it in one gulp, before pulling a face. Camomile tea. He probably hadn't touched any since he had been about five years of age. But the honey soothed his raw throat and after a minute or two, he sensed  that  his heartbeat had slowed enough to pull himself into a standing position. He felt dizzy and ragged, if anything worse than before his nap, but his bladder was complaining loudly. 

He found his wife sitting at the kitchen table, doing something that looked suspiciously like sewing. Behind her, something was bubbling on the stove, wafting a smell through the kitchen that reminded him of his childhood. When Jack stepped closer, she looked up with a smile.

“Are you feeling better?” she asked. He quietly shook his head, sinking onto a chair. Currently he didn't feel up for walking outside into the freezing backyard. 

“I fear, this cold has no intention of retreating in the foreseeable future. But you seem to be finding new hobbies by the day.” 

He tried a smile, the effect completely spoiled by a sneeze. When he looked up, she had pulled a grimace.

“Hardly. I have ripped my skirt on a fence.” 

The Inspector eyebrows rose at this.

“And what exactly were you doing on that fence, Miss Fisher?” 

“Escaping, mostly.” 

Mrs. Robinson smiled, returning to threading the needle through the fabric. She had almost been caught, when the men had returned to finally empty the wagon. It had been fun. Even though her blouse now badly needed washing, after she had had to hide underneath the vehicle for several minutes. And the adventure on the fence had almost ended badly, when Bessie's barking had startled her. But the bitch had obviously decided to accept her bribery and instead barked at the driver, who was scared of dogs, as it turned out. In the argument afterwards she had been able to escape with nobody taking any notice at all.

She looked up to find Jack watch her with a fond smile as if he had followed her train of thoughts. Wondering if she should explain, she smiled sweetly, then got up to pour Jack another cup of tea. Obediently he started sipping the hot beverage.

“So, would you like to explain to me, who you were escaping from?” he asked after a long moment of companionable silence. Phryne didn't look up from her needlework. 

“The makers of our sly grog of course.” 

Coughing was the only answer. She wasn't quite certain if due to a cold or a sip of tea going down the wrong throat.

“I am not quite certain yet, if they produce it up there, but there was a rather large delivery of sugar and molasses to Gabler's this afternoon.” 

“That seems a rather odd component for trousers and curtains,” Jack stated dryly, between sips. 

“Exactly my thoughts, Inspector.” 

Happily, Phryne rose to her feet to inspect the stove, giving her husband time to realise that he wasn't only hungry, but also, that he really needed to use the privy if he wanted to avoid any embarrassing accidents. On the way to the door, he glanced into the pot  that his wife was stirring in. 

“Chicken soup, Miss Fisher? I would have imagined something more unconventional.” 

“I believe the fact that I am cooking is quite unconventional enough, Jack,” she smiled, lifting a spoon to her lips. He watched her frown, then grab for the salt. “And if my mother is to be believed, chicken soup is the only true remedy for a nasty cold.” 

“It generally pays to not argue with ones mother-in-law, I find,” Jack grinned, already with his hand on the door handle. 

“I wouldn't know,” Phryne mumbled under her breath, distracted by poking the chicken, then started. When she turned, there was no Inspector. Hopefully he had left early enough to miss her insensitive comment about his dead mother. She shook her head. It was almost as if a part of her was yearning for a fight. Maybe if she could yell at someone, the dull pain in her stomach would go away. She would have to find someone else, she decided firmly. Some criminal or other would do. By the time the Inspector returned, shivering, from the backyard, the soup bowls were set on the table. Phryne glanced at Jack briefly, swallowing down a nasty comment about him looking even more rotten than in the morning. 

“I believe my nose might be glowing in the dark,” Jack joked, while sitting down. 

“We shall find out tonight,” Phryne smiled, ladling soup into his bowl and resisted the urge to touch his forehead, where pearls of sweat were glistening from the short exercise of crossing the yard. He would be just fine. If he was seriously ill he would be a lot worse than he was, she knew. But the niggling voice in the back of her head just couldn't be convinced to quieten down. 

She realised that instead of eating, he was looking at her.

“Thank you,” he said, his warm, strong hand grabbing for hers. 

Phryne straightened her back, ignoring her throat tightening. It was just chicken soup, for heaven's sake. But her hand firmly held onto his, until she finally managed to convince herself that she would have to let go of him, so he could get some food into his stomach.

“I am merely attempting to be a good housewife,” she quipped, taking a spoonful. The soup wasn't terrible, but possibly it was a good thing that her husband likely couldn't taste all that much today. She had been a little distracted pondering the case while massacring the chicken. 

“All for the cover, I see,” Jack whispered, gently blowing on the surface of his soup, before bursting into yet another cough. When he let his fist sink, Phryne was staring at him, her forehead thrown into a frown. 

“You are heading back to bed after tea, Jack,” she said in a tone of voice that assured him, arguing was a futile exercise. He glanced at her, his eyes glittering. 

“What if I refuse to, Miss Fisher?” he asked casually, lifting his spoon to his lips without tearing his eyes from hers. A split second later he gulped. 

“I'd appreciate it, if you didn't make any sudden movements with that foot,” he pointed out, trying for a casual tone of voice, which was prevented however by the roughness of his throat. 

“Please don't worry yourself, I am rather attached to those parts,” Phryne said sweetly, without withdrawing her foot. It had to be said for the Inspector's valour that, despite the obvious threat, he kept eating. After a few seconds, the pointy heel retreated and he dared to breathe again. 

“You put forward an incredibly convincing argument,” he quipped. “But I will admit that my longing for sleep currently is rather too overwhelming to keep me out of bed for any amount of time.” 

Phryne smirked at this, emptying her bowl without any further incidents. Her husband had obediently finished his soup and stood, somewhat lost in the middle of the kitchen.

“Would you like a hand with these?” 

Mrs. Robinson stared at the empty dishes and shook her head. She honestly despised cleaning up a lot more than cooking. Always had. She set them down and pulled Jack into a kiss, before he could make any attempts at being reasonable, then tenderly stroked his blotchy face.

“You feel quite hot, Jack,” she said, after a moment of silence. Gently, he peeled her hand of his cheek and kissed her palm. 

“I recall just having hot soup for tea,” he smiled, “and a rather nasty threat.” 

“Yet, you are still standing in my kitchen,” Phryne grinned. 

“There was also the promise of company in bed, Miss Fisher,” Jack whispered, leaning in to nibble on her ear. 

“What about the dirty dishes?” Phryne protested, while his hands found the way under her blouse. 

“I believe, they will still be there later,” he smiled into her neck, weaving his fingers into her hair to grant himself better access to the tender skin he knew to be hiding behind her ear. Phryne moaned, while she felt her body melt into his touch. She knew that she shouldn't allow him to be unreasonable and waste his strength. But she yearned to feel him, hungered for his body and ached for their souls to reconnect. She needed this as much as his roaming hands assured her, he did. Was he worried, she wondered? Could he feel the shadows closing in? 

She found herself on the edge of the kitchen table, her husband entangled in her limbs, desperately kissing her with burning lips, all care forgotten.  Phryne wrapped her arms around him tighter, deepened the kiss. He smelled faintly of camomile and soap and she just kept wrestling his hot tongue, pushing her body deeper into his that was searing underneath the thin fabric separating them. His hips were firmly pressed into her, rubbing against her in yearning for some sort of relief. 

“Jack,” she panted, with some effort peeling his chest from herself. He withdrew, reluctantly, trying to hide the disappointment that mixed into the desperate longing in his eyes. 

“Bed,” Phryne ground out breathlessly, without releasing the iron grip of her legs around his hips, before dragging him into another kiss. Her head was swimming. But a clear voice cut through the fuzziness of her thoughts to tell her clearly that it wasn't the time for a brief, unsatisfying act on the kitchen table, tempting as it might be. Jack seemed to have understood the hint. His arms wrapped around her like a vice he lifted her, not for a moment detaching himself from her lips. He missed the door by an inch, slamming his arm and her back painfully into the door frame. 

“Sorry,” he panted. Phryne couldn't help but giggle breathlessly into his mouth, then she returned to where she had stopped before wincing, her slim fingers curled around his neck. Seconds later, two entangled bodies crashed onto the bed, his limbs covering her like a blanket. While Jack trailed gentle bites along her neckline, his fingers were nimbly searching access to the treasures still hidden by Phryne's clothes. He started. 

“Mrs. Turner, you seem to be missing your undergarments,” he whispered, his hips grinding involuntarily against her leg. Phryne grinned. 

“I fear they were lost in action, Jack.” 

In fact, she had disposed of the uncomfortable flannel piece Dot had talked her into, while getting changed after her adventure up at Gabler's, but the glazed look in Jack's eyes currently made her consider abandoning her lingerie more often.

His hand had stilled where he had been thrown by the absence of expected fabric and he, who had touched her a thousand times with little reluctance, seemed now shy of proceeding. She could feel his heart hammering in his chest; his cheeks were flushed, probably from more than the cold and his eyes searching hers as if he wasn't sure what to do. Phryne smiled  and dragged him down to kiss her . 

Her hands slipped underneath the layers of fabric covering his back to find Jack's scorchingly hot skin and drawing a soft trail along his spine, while pulling his body down against herself. The Inspector moaned in the back of his throat, biting down on her lip. Phryne felt another wave of warmth spread through her stomach. His own hand had come back to life and was currently running up her thigh in a determined fashion. With every centimeter he explored, the urgency of his passion returned. His body was a comforting weight on top of her, and Phryne wrapped her legs around his hips, rendering him unable to escape. But Jack had no intention of the kind. He held her tightly, hungrily kissing her lips, as if nothing else in the world mattered. Her mouth drowned out the desperate groan, when he sank into her. Phryne had her eyes closed, just feeling, hearing, tasting the warm man writhing on top of her. Like seaweed in the ocean, her body moved along with his, allowed him to encircle and swallow her, her lust flowing along with Jack's, until it was hard to tell where he ended and she started. And when the waves finally closed over their heads, his arms still held her tightly, lest she might drown. 

 


	16. Black Hole

Grumpily Sanderson dropped his pen, spraying ink over the document he had just signed. The reason for his annoyance however was not the letter. It was the folded up newspaper, lying to the side of his desk. A hesitant knock caused him to look up.

“Come,” he called. 

“I was wondering if you needed anything before I am leaving, Sir?” Mr. Easton asked, from his place at the door. Sanderson stared for a moment at the clerk, wondering if he ever missed anything. Probably not. Which was really the reason he had hired him in the first place. 

“Close the door, will you?” he said, leaning back in his chair. The young man carefully came closer, sitting down in front of the desk. 

“Any news from the DI?” George asked, while he watched his assistant fold his limbs under the table. He looked a bit like an uncomfortable spider in doing so. Jerrod Easton wondered for a brief moment if to ask, which Detective Inspector was being referred to, but it was a pointless exercise and he wasn't a fan of wasting his time. 

“I'm afraid, they haven't found anything yet. But our man says, they are doing just fine.” 

Sanderson nodded slowly.

“Tell me, Easton, do you think, I made a mistake in sending Jack Robinson away?” he asked, picking up the newspaper and throwing it back down onto his desk. The clerk chewed on his lip in thought, before answering. 

“I truthfully don't, Sir. In three days Mrs. Browning will leave this earth and then he should be free to return to his normal life, with or without success in his case.” 

The Chief Commissioner seemed rather unsatisfied with the answer.

“ _If_ they hang her after all. The papers accuse me of having doctored the outcome of the investigation and the fact that DI Robinson has disappeared is not helping my case.” 

“With all due respect, Sir, neither would it be beneficial, if they discovered just how he trapped 'the Butcher'.” 

“That will hardly happen now that you gave the name of that poor sod of a Constable to the press. He's freshly married, I hope you took that into account,” Sanderson grumbled. 

“So his marriage should have a good chance to survive the little slip-up,” Easton stated calmly. 

George Sanderson surveyed his Assistant carefully.

“I feel your logic is sometimes a little scary, Mr. Easton. However, I believe you are right. Jack and Miss Fisher are probably best of where they are. I do hope our man is keeping a keen eye on them?” 

A thin smile lit up the Clerk's face, as he rose.

“Don't worry, Sir. He is watching them closely.” 

The men bid goodnight, but George Sanderson sat for a while longer in his chair, staring blindly at the newspaper. He knew that technically DI Robinson was just one of hundreds of police officers in his care. But he was also Jack, and George couldn't help but worry. Was Collingwood really the safest place for him right now? Finally the Commissioner turned off the light. There was little he could do right now. He would have to sleep on this.

 

X

 

Phryne slipped quietly out of bed, throwing a last look at the dozing Jack. Sleep was certainly something he needed. But she still had a date to keep. Silently she got dressed in the dark and snuck out into the kitchen, throwing another log onto the fire and tidying up the half emptied table, before pulling the door shut behind herself, with a small package in her hands. The streets lay quiet, the children had long since returned home for dinner. Gaslights behind the windows threw colourful shapes onto the cobbles. Phryne's heels clacked quietly over the floor, her skirt swishing in the cold evening wind, as she hurried towards Gabler's. The factory was completely silent, but there were still some lights, which enforced her suspicion that there might be something going on here that wasn't quite legal. But that wasn't why she was here tonight. She rather feared that attempting to climb the fence at night would turn into a suicidal adventure.

“Bessie?” she called quietly, as a small shadow broke from the dark. The bitch came running, uttering a almost silent bark, before she realised, just who was waiting on her. Phryne handed her the chicken head through the gate, patting her gently. The dog seemed satisfied with her treat and rubbed against Phryne's palm, before retreating to hide her treasure. Whistling, Mrs. Robinson got on her way back home. Three streets down, she just sidestepped a dog pile on the floor, when she bumped into someone warm and rather firm, who was retreating from a doorway. Phryne glanced at the face under the dark hat. 

“Eddie?” she asked, before she could stop herself. “It's Eddie, isn't it?” she followed her slip-up for good measure, hoping that Wenbrock would just accept that she remembered his name from earlier. To her surprise, he looked just as shocked as her. 

“Ehhh, yes, yes, it's Eddie. I'm sorry, I didn't see you in the dark.” 

He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, patting his forehead. Mrs. Robinson threw a look at the house, he had come from. There was still a small light burning, but she couldn't remember having seen the door open.

“So you live up here then?” she asked as nonchalantly as she could muster. He cleared his throat. 

“Actually, I live further up the street,” he offered. “I was just attempting to visit a friend. But she isn't home,” he hurried to say. Phryne glanced at the light in the window. 

“I'd better get going, Mrs. Turner. Goodnight.” 

With that he rushed off, before she could utter another word. Phryne stood for a long moment, pondering. Then she spotted something white in the dark. It was an envelope, stuck in the mail slit of the mystery house. Gently she pulled the letter from its place.

“Natalija Nowak,” she read quietly, kicking against a flower pot. While she listened breathlessly into the darkness, there were steps approaching behind the door. When it was dragged open with some resolve, there was only a white envelope lying on the step. The old man grumbled, picking up the letter and retreating. Behind the corner stood Phryne, her heart pounding in her ears, cursing herself for having dropped the only thing that could have helped her to find out, just why Eddie had seemed quite so nervous about visiting 'a friends house'. 

 

X

 

Hugh sat, his head buried in his palms. It had been a long day of searching through files over files, covered in dust. He had collected every shred of evidence on abortion rackets in the area of Collingwood, Abbotsford and even Richmond. But there seemed to be nothing that really helped him any further. Women shied away from sharing their stories, be it of shame or out of fear of punishment. Probably both in most cases. Yet, the lifeless eyes of the young Helen Kerby wouldn't leave him alone. How could he go home to Dottie and the baby in her belly, when the world was this terrible and there was nothing he seemed to be able to do about it? There were voices outside DI Robinson's office, where he had withdrawn to. The officer behind the desk had been approached by a voice that sounded awfully familiar. Hugh pulled himself to his feet and opened the door.

“Dottie? What are you doing here?” 

She lifted a basket, whichs sight made him realise, just how hungry he was.

“If the prophet doesn't come to the mountain, the mountain will have to come to the prophet,” she explained happily, walking past him. “Or if my husband doesn't come home for dinner, I will have to feed him at work.” 

The guy behind the desk grinned and Hugh closed the door quickly.

“You didn't have to,” he protested weakly, watching his wife set up a picnic on the Inspector's desk. 

“I wanted to, Hugh Collins. And now sit down and eat and tell me what it is, that won't leave you in peace.” 

Obediently he sat and shared the story of his visit.

“Poor woman,” Dot said, unconsciously stroking her belly. “It must be terrible to lose your daughter like that.” 

Hugh nodded solemnly, his mouth filled with ham sandwich.

“I think even Mrs. Robinson felt terribly sorry for her,” he added, after swallowing. 

“A strange coincidence, that she would show up on a murder investigation,” Dorothy pondered aloud. 

“Maybe it isn't a coincidence at all,” her husband stated, between bites. 

“You think they are investigating an abortion racket?” Dot asked, with some disgust. Abortion wasn't really something she could appreciate, especially after her own experience as a bait some time ago. 

“I don't know, Dottie,” Hugh answered truthfully, but couldn't help being relieved at the idea that Inspector Robinson and his wife might be on the same trail as he was. While he grabbed another sandwich, Dot flicked through a Folder. 

“Valerie Wright?” she asked. Collins nodded. 

“It was suspected, that she's had one. The woman broke down bleeding in the street in bright daylight. But she refused to talk and in the end the investigation was dropped.” 

Dot's eyes glittered when she looked up.

“I do know her,” she grinned, biting into a sandwich herself. “She is a member in my church.” 

 

X

 

 

 

To her astonishment, light greeted Phryne when she stepped into their cottage. It was falling through the bedroom door and so it was probably a fair guess that Jack was awake. Taking her coat off, she walked into the room and found the Inspector sitting up in bed, a pillow wedged in his back, reading a book.

“There you are,” he smiled, successfully hiding that her absence had worried him somewhat. 

“Just going for a walk,” she fibbed happily, slipping her blouse over her head last, now standing beside the bed stark naked. The hungry look in his eyes caused her to grin. He'd never be truly sated. 

A cough, however, forced Jack to turn away and Phryne used the time to don her nightdress, before slipping under the covers.

“What are you reading then?” she asked, grasping for his book. 

“ _The Poisoned Chocolates Case”?_ That sounds an awful lot like a detective story, Jack. I thought you weren't fond of those.” 

“It isn't really. Mac provided me with educational reading material,” he grinned, turning the page. 

“So it isn't a crime novel then?” she asked. 

“It is an attempt to highlight, how easily a detective can misconstrue a murder upon drawing the wrong conclusion from evidence,” Jack mumbled. “Or so I am told, I have only just reached page 15.” 

Phryne snuggled into her pillow.

“That sounds rather interesting,” she pointed out, without the desired effect. Jack continued on his book without taking any notice of her comment for a long moment. 

“You can read it for yourself, Miss Fisher. Right after I am done.” 

His wife frowned.

“I always share my books with you, Jack.” 

“If I remember correctly, I usually don't get much say in the matter.” 

He looked up at her, grinning broadly, then pulled her closer and snuggled her against his chest. Phryne slipped a casual hand under his pyjamas, feeling for a familiar scar between his ribs. Jack flipped the book back to the first page and started reading to her in his low, calming voice, while she slowly drifted off to sleep, comfortably cuddled into him.

 

X

 

Darkness surrounded him, nothing but darkness, swallowing every sound. The thin glimpse of moonlight pouring in through the barred window, was hardly enough to deepen the shadows. He couldn't move. Not even shift in his chair to release some pressure from his aching arms. Jack swallowed dryly. He was thirsty. Hot. She was right, he was running a fever after all. And still he couldn't move. He opened his mouth to cry out for her.

“Phryne!” 

It didn't come out as more than a whisper. His throat too dry, too hot. But it didn't matter. She wasn't there. Just him and the darkness.

“Phryne,” he tried again, “please.” 

The door flew open, light blinding him. In a halo the silhouette of a woman stepped towards him. She was beautiful, even in the shadows, dark locks falling over her shoulders. Her hand stretched out, ran through his hair. He flinched. Her fingers were so cold that he shivered under her touch.

“It's so sweet, Inspector,” she said. “You really believe you married her, don't you?” 

Elaine leaned in, brought her scarlet lips to his ear.

“It's just your fever playing tricks on you. Nobody will save you.” 

Her lips brushed over his cheek on retreating, burning him like ice. Jack tore on his bounds, struggled against his fate. But the rope seemed to only get tighter, the more he tried to free himself.

“Phryne!” 

It sounded like a sob. There was laughter, ringing in his ears.

“Jack! Jack!” 

His trashing limbs finally managed to struggle free. The Inspector gasped for air. When the fog of sleep lifted, Jack realised that he was sitting in bed, Phryne staring at him, holding her cheek. His breath hitched in his throat. He wanted to reach out for her, but was scared she would refuse to be comforted by him. In fact, the angry glitter in her eyes seemed to make this a rather likely option. So instead he rubbed his palms over his face, pulling his knees up to his chest. His heart was still pounding in his ears.

“Dear God. I... was dreaming.” 

“I rather hope you were.” 

There was a trace of humour in her voice that relieved him beyond measure.

“Hitting me in the jaw with your elbow, while I am trying to wake you, is not a habit I wish you to take up.” 

“I am so sorry, Phryne.” 

Jack reached out his fingers for hers, while there were tears pressing into his eyes. He still felt shaken to the bone. A tiny smile around her lips accompanied Phryne's hand, when it came to wipe his guilt away. Seconds later it turned into a frown, as her fingers moved to his forehead.

“I think you might be running a fever,” she stated, her voice unreadable. 

“I doubt it,” he protested. But he was shivering in the cold air.

Jack shook the dark thoughts off that still flooded his brain. It had just been a nightmare.  _This_ was reality! 

Or was it?

'It's just your fever playing tricks on you,' a voice echoed in his ears. With his sleeve Jack rubbed the fine pearls of sweat from his forehead. He was feeling incredibly hot and freezing at the same time. What if he  _was_ dreaming? If his whole relationship with Miss Fisher was just the delusions of a dying man, slowly bleeding out onto a basement floor?

“That's enough, Jack! You need to see reason! And I am going to phone Mac in the morning,” Phryne insisted, somewhere in the blur. The Inspector watched her blue eyes stare at him and shook his head at himself. She was real! Of course she was. Phryne had visited him a hundred times in his dreams - many of them of a rather erotic nature - but none of those fantasies had ever felt like this. And she certainly had never yelled at him for being unreasonable. He swallowed dryly and nodded. 

Carefully, he slipped back under the covers, pulling the blanket up to his shoulder. Phryne, obviously startled by his sudden defeat, watched him for a long moment, then lay down on her own pillow,  turning to her husband . His hand came to cover her up properly, but on it 's retreat, grasped for her fingers and briefly pulled them to his hot lips, before bedding their entwined hands between them. While silence crept into the room, they looked at each other in the darkness. 

“What have you been dreaming?” Phryne asked. 

“Just nonsense,” he whispered after a moment's thought. His wife said nothing. 

She didn't point out that he had  been  screa ming her name in his sleep, had begged her to help him. Also, she had seen what page of the newspaper he had been studying the longest; it was creased on the edges. The trail of evidence le d Phryne Robinson, lady detective, to a simple conclusion:  Elaine Browning's pending execution had brought up memories. Memories that Phryne herself had rather forgotten. Why, she wondered, watching her husband slip back into the land of dreams, without letting go of her hand, had they never talked about this? 

Probably for the same reason they never talked much about Janey or her parents. It was entirely to painful to remember. And yet... And yet! She glanced at Jack 's sleeping frame, then carefully shifted onto her back and stared at the moon hanging from the dark night sky like a lantern. Jack's hand twitched in hers and she wrapped her fingers tighter around his. What would he think if he knew really everything about her? If she just allowed herself to show the dark, the hidden and the weak?  He had never judged her for losing Janey. Never seemed worried about  her lifestyle .  Never asked anything that she didn't want to share. 

About five months ago, he had found a man's sock wedged underneath her bed. Instead of doubting her for a second, he had teased her. Granted, there had been more than a hint of dust collected in the fibres, but Phryne knew men for long enough to be aware that most of them didn't bother with things like reason, when they saw a chance for jealousy.

Jack wasn't most men. He had promised her a long time ago, that he would never ask her to change for him. And while change had come and she had embraced it, she had never felt like he wanted her to be anything that she wasn't. Neither had he ever tried to be anyone but Jack Robinson. And it had always been more than enough.

And yet, here they were. Hiding. Pretending.

Phryne couldn't help but wonder, if he could see through her act, the same way she could see through his. The answer was obvious. The way he looked at her, the way he touched her – Jack was comforting her, even when he just shared her dinner or held her in bed. She couldn't hide the shadows, and Phryne wasn't really sure if she should be angry or relieved about that. She tore her eyes from the amber globe in the sky and turned her face towards Jack, who was breathing calmly. His coughing seemed to have calmed and his nightmares subsided. When Phryne felt for his forehead, he commented with a quiet groan. His skin still held unusual warmth, but it had cooled down somewhat. Phryne allowed herself to let her eyes fall shut and the sound of his breathing coax her back to sleep.

 


	17. Jupiter

“You know, I was actually looking forward to sleeping in today,” Mac grumbled, walking into the kitchen. Phryne gestured for her to lower her voice. The Doctor seemed little convinced, but set down her hat before falling onto a chair. 

“Is your precious husband asleep then?” she asked, no less loud. 

“No, he isn't.” 

In the bedroom door leaned Jack, grinning, in pyjamas and a morning gown, which was a rather disturbing combination for the ever proper Inspector.

“But considering that we don't officially know you, it might be a good idea if not all of our neighbours found out.” 

“ _Considering_ that you just drew me out of bed, where I intended to spend the rest of my free day with Hazel, I believe it is not the time to give me lectures, Jack,” she gave back. 

“First and foremost, it wasn't me calling you but my beloved, if somewhat overbearing wife,” Jack countered to Phryne's annoyance, glancing at her with a twinkle in his eye. “And secondly, what you do or not do with my cousin inside the sanctity of your bedroom is none of my concern. But do give my love to her.” 

Mac grinned lopsided and rose.

“Lets get this over with then. She is waiting on me.” 

Phryne watched the couple retreat to the bedroom with a smile on her lips, before returning to her task of making breakfast. There were some strict orders, some less strict argument and laughter that was missing any form of strictness whatsoever. Ten minutes later, they emerged.

“In my humble, but nevertheless highly professional opinion, your husband is suffering of a simple cold,” Elisabeth stated, packing her bag. “I'd recommend tea, chicken soup and-” 

“We tried both already,” Phryne said.

“-and patience,” Mac finished, rolling her eyes. “You should make an attempt at that, challenging as it may be.” 

“What about the fever?” her friend asked, ignoring the jibe at her lack of that certain virtue. 

“Slightly above normal temperature. Hardly worth mentioning,” Mac smiled, finishing up. She turned to her friend, who still looked worried, grabbing her by the shoulder. 

“He's fine, Phryne. I would prefer if you both came back to St. Kilda soon, however.” 

“You think, Jack's at risk here?” Phryne asked. 

“I was rather thinking that you are much more fun near a tumbler of whisky.” 

Grinning, Mac donned her hat and tipped it at her friend, before leaving. Phryne stood for a moment lost in the kitchen, before remembering to stir the porridge. She felt somewhat deflated by the doctor's diagnosis. Not that she wanted to Jack to be seriously ill, she assured herself quickly. But her concern had followed her into her dreams, had been the first thing on her mind waking up. To have it brushed off like this seemed rather rude. Also, there was little reason now to keep him from returning to his terrible job on Monday morning.

“A penny for your thoughts,” his voice whispered, before a pair of soft lips kissed her neck. Phryne closed her eyes, trying to not succumb to the involuntary smile spreading over her face. 

“Breakfast is ready,” she avoided his question, pulling the pot of the stove. He was alright. She should be celebrating, not pulling a long face. When she turned, she spotted the slightest glimpse of annoyance on the Inspector's features. It vanished so fast that she wondered if she had only imagined things. Dishing out the porridge into the bowls, he had readily pulled from the cupboard, she watched him stir honey into his tea and wondered if she should ask what was going on in his head. And, could he tell what was on her mind? 

He stared for a long moment into his bowl, his spoon in hand, as if he was battling with himself. Phryne squirmed unhappily on her chair.

“You seem far away?” she finally tried casually. 

“I met a young woman yesterday at the factory,” he said, lifting the spoon to his lips. Phryne stopped eating, relief mixing with curiosity. “She is expecting a child.” 

“Married?” Phryne asked for good measure, even though she knew the answer all too well. He shook his head. 

“A bastard child and a coward father.” Jack paused for a porridge filled moment. “Just like Helen Kerby.” 

The detective's eyes met over the table.

“You believe she might try an abortion?” Phryne asked. 

“It wouldn't surprise me. Desperate women often do,” Jack answered simply. 

Phryne sensed that there was another argument lingering. She had plenty to say about the stubbornness with which society and church denied women the right to decide if they wanted children. And also the endless stigma attached to intimate relations out of wedlock. Neither really concerned Jack, she knew. He had never refused to sleep with her before they had been married – quite the opposite. But she also knew, that this was a painful subject for him. Nature had denied his own wish to have children and other people risking their lives to rid themselves of the “problem” must seem like a terrible irony.

“On the other hand, Natalija did seem a rather sensible woman,” he stated, interrupting her thoughts. Phryne smiled a surprised smile. 

“A rather odd name, don't you think?” 

Jack grinned.

“That seems an interesting observation for you, _Phryne_.” 

She pouted for good measure, before continuing.

“She wouldn't happen to listen to the surname of Nowak, would she, Jack?” 

Now he was the one looking surprised.

“You know her family?” he asked after a moment. Of course, that would make sense. But she shook her head, chewing for an annoyingly long time on her oats. 

“I found her name on an envelope last night. I believe it was left by a friend of mine.” 

Briefly, she filled in Jack on her two odd meetings with her old school friend. When she had finished a deep crease had appeared across his forehead.

“He recognised you?” 

“He did. But not to worry, I lied convincingly,” she quipped, getting to her feet to collect the bowls. “Doubtlessly one of your many talents,” Jack grinned, realising that most of his porridge was still left. She ignored his comment. 

“However, I do wonder what he has to write to our mother-to-be.” 

“Maybe he is said coward fathering her child, although I don't see Wenbrock as the type really.” 

Phryne shook her head, leaning against the table and watching Jack slowly chewing his way through his porridge with interest.

“Eddie has been many things, but a coward? No.” There was a fond smile crossing her features that Jack missed, staring miserably at the rest of his breakfast. “One of the girls once hid a frog in Miss Barnet's bag. When she threatened to punish the whole classroom, he got up and took the blame – and the beating to go along with it.” 

“And you didn't set her straight?” the Inspector asked. 

“That would have rendered his heroic sacrifice pointless, Jack.” 

“It also would have saved him from a severe beating.” 

Phryne shrugged.

“That was his choice, not mine. However, he was not a boy who would have let a girl take the fall for his own failings. So, I doubt very much that he would leave a woman alone with a child.” 

“But then you haven't spoken to him in over 20 years, Phryne.” 

She looked at the Inspector.

“Not in their honour. And you said it yourself, Jack. He doesn't seem the type.” 

“Yet he writes unwed women anonymous letters and is worried about being caught,” Jack said slowly. “Maybe we should have a word with him.” 

“That should be hard without drawing suspicion on us. And he already is considering that I might be Phryne Fisher.” 

Jack pondered this, rubbing his forehead.

“It will have to be me, then. Maybe I can coax something out of him during work.” 

Phryne hummed under her breath.

“Very true. And till then, we will have a closer look at your friend.” 

She checked his watch, while he stifled a cough.

“I think, we should still be in time.”

“In time for what exactly, Miss Fisher?” Jack asked. 

“Church of course, Jack. Now eat up.” 

Her husband gaped at her openly, then obediently finished his porridge.

“I believe we are Catholic, Mrs. Turner.” 

“And there I thought we were Anglican.” 

“According to our little folder, we have converted.” 

Jack grinned, bravely swallowing the last spoonful. He currently wished he could go back to bed, but he wasn't going to tell Phryne. The truth of the matter was that he was more than relieved. Her willingness to let him take part in the investigation meant that she had given up on worrying that his cold would kill him. Had he known it to be this easy, he'd have asked her to telephone Mac on the first sign of a sore throat.

The Inspector smiled to himself, wandering into the bedroom to get dressed. She joined him at the time he was fastening his braces. They were the thing he really hated about his change of dress, even more than having lost the protection of his three-piece and coat. A belt had been one of the first things he had willingly accepted from Phryne's hands as a gift and he had never looked back. Yet, here he was again, buttoning braces to his trousers. He glanced up at Phryne, currently standing in front of the cabinet in a piece of underwear she probably wouldn't be caught dead in under normal circumstances. How much she must miss her own wardrobe.

He sat down at the edge of the bed to slip his socks on, pondering.

“So, where do we head for a Catholic Church around here?” he asked casually. 

“St. Joseph's is the only one I can think of,” Phryne answered, while pulling her dress over her head. He sneezed. 

“And what do you hope to achieve there?” Jack asked, glancing longingly at his cooling pillow. 

“You said it yourself, Jack,” his wife smiled, stepping to him and starting to fiddle with his tie. “We need to listen to rumours. Churches are almost as good as kitchens in that respect.” 

Jack grumbled something under his breath, shrugging into his coat.

“And there I thought, people in churches would be only sitting and praying.” 

The Inspector completely missed his wife's quizzical stare, as he turned away for a cough. Phryne forced a smile, convincing her reluctant self that she was overreacting.

“I believe there is also a lot of kneeling and standing going on in a Catholic church, Jack. But you would know that better than me.” 

He groaned. She never forgot anything he told her. He should remember that next time he spilled the beans on some minor detail of his childhood. But most likely, he wouldn't.

“True. But then I only know St. Ignatius and that one I fear is a bit of a walk from here.” 

A humorous rolling of eyes was the only answer Jack received.

 

X

 

Dot and Hugh Collins hadn't walked. They had chosen to take the tram up to Richmond, where Dorothy Williams had gone to church since she was a little girl. The impressive bluestone building lay calmly in the morning sun. Among the people currently heading for the entrances, they spotted a familiar face.

“Sister Magdalene?” Dot called out to her friend. The nun turned, a smile spreading over her face. 

“Dorothy, how lovely to see you. And Hugh,” she nodded. “We have been missing you lately.” 

“I fear I had to work last Sunday,” the Constable fibbed. 

“I'm sure you did,” Magdalene said, winking at him. Hugh couldn't help the blush spreading over his ears. The nun, however, didn't seem inclined to dwell on the subject and little later he followed two chattering women down the aisle that he only half a year ago had walked with his bride. A strange feeling of calmness came to him, as he watched the sun fall onto the familiar stone pillars. 

They were greeted by the usual picture: the cheerful ocean of colours to the left of the nave, the benches to the right filled with a monotonous sea of grey.

Hugh glanced at his wife, who was still chattering happily with Magdalene, before veering off to the right to join the ranks of men. It wasn't that he disliked being Catholic so much, as that he always felt a little lost. This was  Dottie's crowd.  His friend, his family went to their church - the one he used to be part of. Not that he regretted having converted. He had wanted to marry his Dottie and this was what it had taken. It was worth it, he realised, looking over to where she sat, laughing, with a happy glow to her cheeks. Absolutely worth it. 

While he pondered this a woman walked past, that looked vaguely familiar. Hugh started, resisting the urge to jump up and stop Nell from proceeding. But she seemed to have found what she was looking for. Dot looked up at her and h er smile disappeared . 

“Nell? What are you doing here?” Hugh heard her ask quietly. He was sweating. And just now, the elderly man beside him was trying to begin a conversation. And so the Constable missed the answer. When he looked back over, Nell had found a place beside her sister and both stared seemingly enthralled at Father Grogan, who was starting his ceremony. Had he been a little closer he might have heard them whisper. 

“I am allowed to go to church, you know. You don't have a monopoly on it.” 

“I didn't say that. It just seems rather odd, considering your choice of occupation.” 

“What does that have to do with anything?” Nell asked. 

Dot bit her lip. She was not quite sure how to answer that. Glancing at Sister Magdalene, she wondered what she must be thinking. Then she remembered the nun's own brother, who was currently spending time in gaol for trying to kill her, amongst other things. She guessed that in direct comparison, she had won the sibling lottery.

“So, you just wanted to listen to Father Grogan preaching about mortal sin then?” she asked after a pause. Now Nell seemed to not know what to say. 

“Maybe not,” she quipped, turning to her sister. “Honestly, I just wanted to know how you are and if you smoothed over things with your husband. But I am currently wondering, if that was a great idea.” 

Dot stayed silent for a long moment while Father Grogan broke into something resembling song.

Nell moved to the edge of the bench to get up, when a hand flew up to lay on her arm. Dot turned to her.

“Stay,” she said quietly. “Please.” 

Nell battled a moment with herself, then settled back down. For some time, the sisters just followed the Mass in silence. Dorothy's eyes swept quietly over the crowd of hats. Should she confess to Nell that her reason for coming wasn't all about hearing Father Grogan preach either?

“Have you seen Valerie Wright lately?” she whispered, turned in Magdalene's direction. 

“No. I believe there was some trouble,” the nun said enigmatically. Dot's curiosity was woken. 

“What sort of trouble?”

Someone expressed her anger at the continuous chattering with a “Shhhs,” that was a lot louder than any of the whispers shared between the three women. Heads turned. Dot felt a blush spread over her cheeks and decided not to follow her sleuthing till the Mass was over.

“She left her husband.” 

The voice answering her, was matter-of-fact and not  Magdalene's . Dot turned to Nell in shock.  Her sister  faced her , grinning and shrugging.  “Her brother is quite good friends with Bell,” she answered the unasked question. 

“I don't want to know what kind of friendship you are referring to,” Dot grumbled under her breath, before she could stop herself. 

“Friends. You must have heard of them, Sis,” Nell grinned. “Strangely it seem to be always the most straight-laced people that have their mind the deepest emerged into the gutter.” 

Dot didn't say anything. The blush was intensifying and she felt that she was losing ground as well as track of the investigation.

“Why did the marriage break up then?” she asked after a pause, while pretending to care about what the priest had to say about mortal sin. 

“The word is that she refused to carry his child and he got rather rough with her.” 

Dorothy nodded. For a while Father Grogan's impressive voice washed over his flock.

“I need to talk to her,” Mrs. Collins finally said, with some resolve. 

“Nobody knows where she is,” Magdalene cut in from the other side. “She has disappeared.”

“Make that almost nobody,” Nell grinned. 

“Amen!” all three women said, rising to their feet. 


	18. Asteroid

Meanwhile, across two suburbs, in another church, this one built of red brick, Phryne had risen to her feet as well. Jack took a moment longer to get there. He was feeling dizzy and the thick fog of incense that was spread by an altar server from something looking like an oversized, golden handbag, made him feel nauseous. He also remembered vaguely that Mac had mentioned something about resting. Instead he tried himself on the sporting exercise of keeping up with the Catholics around him, who knelt and rose with an enthusiasm that  seemed rather scary from a  Protestant's perspective. Finally on his feet , he tried to calm his revolting stomach with deep  breaths. Which  turned out to be  a mistake, considering the fog of burning herbs wafting around him. 

“Excuse me.” 

Pressing a hand to his mouth, h e shoved the man beside him out of the way and ran down the middle aisle. Surely that was considered highly unsuitable, but throwing up in the house of the Lord was probably not regarded as overly polite either. The old door gave way with a dark creaking sound and moments later fresh, crisp air greeted him. Jack dragged a deep breath into his lungs. He stepped towards some greenery, bending over and resting a hand against a tree. But nothing happened. Listening carefully to his stomach, the Inspector concluded that it had decided against releasing his breakfast for the time being. People wandered down the street, eyeing him curiously, some doffing their hats at him. Jack pulled himself upright and returned their greeting as cordially as he could manage while continuing to slowly suck cold air into his lungs. He realised what a strange picture he must make for. But the Inspector was unwilling to head back inside. After a long pause he chose to go for a wander around the building - out of the range of curious eyes but staying close enough so Phryne would find him easily should she notice his absence. He shoved his hat back onto his head and strolled around the corner towards the tower. Before he could see it, he heard the argument. 

“I want you to fix this!” the man yelled. “I won't be disgraced by a worthless harlot and her bastard child.” 

Jack was running before the last of the words had reached his ears. Sprinting around the corner, he  was met with a picture that caused his nausea to return with full force. The young man was pinning the woman against the wall, a hand wrapped around her throat, threatening to choke her. Tears were streaming down the pale face, but still, she was struggling. Jack gripped the guy by his collar, forcefully hurling him away from the woman, trying not to throw up into the grimacing features in front of him. Right now, he really wished he was not undercover and could drag this bastard down to the Station and let him cool his heels in a cell until he had learned how to treat a woman. A second later the man took a swing at him and Jack reconsidered. While his fist hit the  guy's stomach with a satisfying thud  and he  watched him fold up, he thanked God that he wasn't currently an active police officer. 

“This is none of your business,” the man gurgled, holding his stomach. He looked like a kid now, Jack realised and he guessed he should have felt sorry for him. But the sight of Natalija, who had slipped down the wall, sitting shivering and ashen on the ground, didn't allow him any sentimentalities of the kind. 

“You had better get out, before I forget myself,” he said coldly. “And don't you dare ever touch her again!” 

“Who do you think you are?” the kid yelled scrambling to his feet and ran for it. Jack stared after him in silence for a long moment then took off his thin coat and wrapped it around the girl's shoulders. 

“Are you alright?” 

“What do ya think?” she asked, her voice shaking with anger. Jack let himself drop onto the freezing ground beside her. It had a certain sense of deja vu to it. 

“My guess is that you are not,” he stated carefully, touching her arm in an attempt to comfort. She rubbed her bleeding nose onto her sleeve. Jack realised that he didn't have any tissues to give to her. Most of them were in the wash and the remaining piece in his pocket was Phryne's and already used.

He leaned his head against the cold stone, waiting for his heart beat to calm down. Hitting people was not his favourite action in the world, yet the rage  towards  the young man had hardly waned. 

“Was that the father?” he asked, after a while of silence. She nodded, barely visible. 

“Used to be a charmer, believe it or not,” she said, as if she needed to explain herself. Jack didn't answer. Young men in his personal experience had a certain tendency towards nastiness, when it came to women. Natalija seemed lost in her own thoughts. 

“Wants me to get rid of it.” 

Jack glanced at her.

“And you are thinking about it?” he enquired, his voice unreadable. She shrugged. 

“What choice do I have?” 

The Inspector couldn't answer that. Staring at her cold legs sticking out under the thin skirt, he could only guess the poverty she lived in. And bringing up a child without a marriage was a social stigma, hardly a woman would take on herself willingly. It was impossible to tell her to have the child.

He was much more familiar with backyard abortions than he wanted to be. Few of the doctors and midwives who relieved women of their little troubles in their bathrooms or on their kitchen tables could give a damn about their fate. They just cared about the money the desperate women managed to scrape together. And the law had truly no way of stopping them. Where else would the women go? The law, damning them for their misery, just trapped them in the hands of their butchers. Jack felt his hands ball into fists. He probably could save a hundred lives in his career, but Detective Inspector Robinson would never be able fix this problem. He was just a servant of the laws. Even the ones he hated.

He glanced at the woman, who had stopped shivering or sobbing. Even the bleeding seemed to subside due to pure willpower. But maybe Jack Robinson could achieve, what the Inspector had no chance to do. At least for Natalija he could change the grim world. He would have to talk to Phryne. And convince the girl not to do anything silly until he had found a solution. Carefully, Jack peeled himself from his chilly  spot on the ground, stretching out his hand to help her up. Natalija looked at him, defiance glittering in her eyes. But she also seemed to consider if she could trust him or not. Then she took his hand. The Inspector smiled. 

“Don't worry, we will-”

There were steps behind him. Someone was running towards them and Jack turned, barely dodging a flying fist the second time in ten minutes. He held onto the angry man's wrist tightly.

“So it's you! I didn't believe it when they said old Wenderson caught ya two together!” 

Eddie stared with disgust from Jack, who was still holding on to him, to Natalija, who at present pulled herself to her feet. Then he ripped himself away from the Inspector's grip.

“Didn't think ya wer' such a cad, Turner! Ya have a lovely wife too, ya bloody coward.” 

He spat at Jack's feet, who was slowly catching up on the accusation s and lifted his hands in defiance. 

“Listen, Wenbrock, I have nothing to do with Miss Nowak's condition. We only just met yesterday.” 

The other man glared angrily at him, getting right into his face.

“I'm sure it was the Holy Spirit then!” 

“I am certain Father Bradbury would appreciate your deep faith, Eddie,” a sweet voice behind them said. Both men turned to stare at Phryne, who looked highly amused. 

“May I ask what this little argument is about, before we get to the second round?” she asked. Eddie visibly retreated, swallowing hard. Punching a coward, who got a girl into the family way and then wouldn't own up to it, was the one thing. Telling his wife was quite another. 

“You may,” Jack answered, smiling. “Mr. Wenbrock here is convinced that I took part in the activities related to getting Miss Nowak into the pudding club, while in fact I have just scared the real culprit away, who thought it necessary to threaten her behind the church.” 

Eddie Wenbrock looked startled.

“You... I mean... who?” 

Jack shrugged.

“I didn't recognise the young man. I only just moved here and would therefore be hard pressed to have already built up a large aquaintance. You might want to ask Natalija.” 

He turned. But the space behind him was decidedly empty. The girl had disappeared  into thin air. 

 

X

 

Jane chewed on her piece of toast, staring miserably at  Mr. Butler, who was enthralled in  ' a quick look through the paper' . A fly hummed closer, settled beside a drop of jam. The girl watched on as it moved around, finally sinking it's mouthpiece into the red liquid. 

“Do you believe, they will be back soon?”

The newspaper sank. Jane noticed that Mr. Butler looked a little pale around the edges, but maybe it was just her imagination.

“I'm sure they will,” he smiled thinly, folding up the paper and laying it onto a chair beside him. Jane's curious eyes followed this motion. 

“I do apologise, Miss Jane. I got rather distracted. Would you like more tea?” 

The girl agreed, her eyes still glued to the paper that seemed magically forgotten, while the servant got to his feet and refilled both their cups. His hands were unsteady and some of the pale amber liquid hit the saucer. Jane looked at him quizzically. She fished for the newspaper while he had his back turned.

“I don't think that is a terribly good idea, Miss,” Tobias Butler protested, but Jane was already reading the article. After a moment she looked up. 

“It says here that new evidence has surfaced, claiming that Elaine Browning was a victim of an elaborate scheme to bring down her father and brother-in-law.” 

She stared at Mr. Butler in question.

“I thought she kidnapped Jack!” 

Tobias sighed, sitting back down.

“So it seems. I didn't attend the search myself but I have no reason to doubt the word of your mother. And the Inspector was wounded and very ill.” 

“Did you see him?” Jane asked, grasping for straws. She didn't want to believe the nonsense written in a newspaper, but there was a tiny niggling voice that insisted that there must be some truth to it. Her teacher, Mrs. Lesley always said, that where there was smoke there had to be fire. 

“Not while he was in a really bad state,” Mr. Butler recalled. “He was brought to hospital and then recovered from the worst in the Commissioner's house, if I recall correctly. Miss Fisher stayed there for three days. Dorothy tells me, she refused to sleep.” 

Mr. Butler wore a frown clouding his features. He remembered how useless he had felt. It had been his responsibility to keep Miss Fisher's house intact in her absence - that was what he was employed for. Yet he couldn't manage to shake the feeling that he should have been there with them, offered his support rather than polished tables and sorted cabinets.

“So you never saw him yourself?” Jane asked. 

“I saw him after he had recovered. He was pale as a ghost, but determined to bring down the Brownings. Miss Fisher had stirred up the whole city at this stage.” 

Tobias smiled fondly. Jane couldn't help but join in.

“They succeeded in the end,” he continued. “But the Inspector collapsed during the arrest.” 

Jane, who had just lifted her cup to her lips in relief, let it sink again.

“They brought him here. I helped Dorothy clean his blood off the suit.” 

There was silence for a long moment.

“So, it is all true then?” Jane asked. “Mrs. Browning would have let Jack die?” 

Mr. Butler had finished his breakfast and rose.

“I cannot speak for the investigation, Miss, and whether or not it was Mrs. Browning who took the Inspector hostage or killed her husband. But I consider the Inspector a very thorough police officer. If he concluded that it was her, I am inclined to believe that and I would recommend that you do as well.” 

He turned to find the girl chewing on her lip, then, with some resolve push the newspaper away from herself, knocking over a jar of strawberry jam in the process. A confused fly rose into the air, humming angrily. Hastily, Jane picked up the glass, before it could spread its red liquid over the table. Her thoughts were spinning.

Of course, there was no doubt in her mind about Jack's word. Neither was there the slightest worry that Mr. Butler hadn't picked up on the truth. But then, neither of her parents had ever talked about the whole encounter. What Jane knew, she knew from stories that were told to her by friends at school, from  Dot's hints that it had led to the Inspector surrendering to his love for Miss Fisher. 

But even the maid would avoid questions on the subject. Silence was spread over the whole kidnapping, as if it had never happened. And now here were a bunch of journalists actually claiming just that. Jane really wished at present that she could just ask her parents frankly, in unavoidable terms, for the truth. Then they would have to share it, wouldn't they?

“Miss?” Tobias Butler asked gently. Jane looked up at him with huge eyes. “Don't doubt them,” he said, pressing her hand briefly, before remembering his status. She shook her head slowly, a hint of tears glittering in her eyes. 

“I don't,” she said stiffly, getting to her feet. Maybe sometimes smoke was just smoke. 

 

X

 

 

The house was an inconspicious gray facade in the middle of many other s. Nell knocked at the door and after a long moment it was opened by a woman in a shimmering red dress that seemed a somewhat strange contrast to the bleakness of the exterior. 

“Oh, you! I thought dear Charly might be early for once.” 

Nell laughed, as if her friend had told a great joke, then turned to her sister and Hugh, who felt like he had slipped out of the frying pan and into the fire by leaving St. Ignatius to come here.

“Bell, this is my little sister Dot and her husband Hugh Collins.” 

Dutifully friendly greetings were exchanged after which they followed the woman into the house. It wasn't quite what Dorothy had expected. It looked comfortable and normal, even though there were a few more women hanging about eyeing the intruders with suspicion. Mrs. Collins had niggled Nell enough for her to explain that yes, her friend was also a prostitute, organised with a few other women into a private little circle, hiding in a respectable area. So far, they were left alone by people who claimed ownership over them, but it was probably only a matter of time. They were led into a kitchen in the back of the house and offered drinks, which they refused, while the woman in the red dress brewed herself some tea.

“So, what brings you here?” Bell finally asked, as if she had only just thought of the question. 'Lola's' relatives weren't exactly how she had imagined them. She knew that her friend was from a respectable Catholic family, yet the blushing woman in her Sunday dress and the young man donning a very proper suit looked so strangely out of place, that she wanted to laugh. She was also incredibly curious. 

“They are looking for Valerie,” Nell explained quietly. A pair of perfectly shaped eyebrows rose. 

“For what reason? You know that Val doesn't wanna go back. Nobody will drag her back to that imbecile of a husband.” 

“What did he do to her?” Dorothy heard herself ask. Two heads flew about. “I mean, you act like he is a terrible man, but she aborted his child, didn't she?” 

Bell leaned against the kitchen counter, locking her arms over her chest. Nell frowned, then chose that it was time to explain.

“Valerie's husband Ted is a drunkard, can't hold down a job. They used to live in an abominable cottage over in Fitzroy.”

She was cut off by Bell.

“And she told him, that she wouldn't have his child, until they could afford not to starve themselves. Yet he wouldn't leave her alone. Forced himself on her.” She all but spat the last sentence. “And then started hitting her when she went to take care of the problem.” 

Both Dot and Hugh stayed silent.

“How could she afford that?” Dot asked after a while. She remembered Alice telling her that the abortion had cost her not only almost her life but also all of her savings. 

“I helped her,” Bell said, lifting her chin. “She sat over there on that table crying two month ago. I gave her money and an address.” 

“And she very nearly died!” Hugh said. Three pairs of eyes flew around. They had almost forgotten about him standing there. “It's in the files. She broke down in Brunswick Street April second, was rushed to the hospital and just barely survived.” 

Bell stared at him, her eyes going small, then she turned to Nell.

“You brought a bloody copper into my house!?” 

Her friend shrugged.

“Calm down, he's just Hugh.” 

“He's a copper! Do I have to tell you what they do to us?!” Her blonde hair trembled in anger, her voice holding a hint of hysteria. 

“Well, you might have noticed that he hasn't arrested you yet,” Nell pointed out sharply. “He doesn't care about what kind of business you are running here. He's looking for the people who butchered Valerie. There was a kid found in Yarra Park yesterday. Looks like she wasn't quite as lucky.” 

Bell went quiet, suspiciously eyeing Hugh, who attempted to look as unthreatening as possible.

“All right,” she finally said, pulling her arms tighter around herself, as if trying to get warm. Without another word, she walked out of the kitchen, three people scrambling to follow her, led them past an abundance of doors down a gloomy hall. At the far end, she stopped and knocked. 

“Valerie? There are some people here to see you.” 

Dot and Hugh shared a look, then stared at Nell. She shook her head.

“She's a seamstress. Just staying here.” 

That was all the explanation they were going to get, they realised, when a hesitant hand opened the door. The woman standing in front of them, was taller than any of them, with long blonde hair drawn up into an old-fashioned do. She had been probably rather pretty if she had bothered to wear any make-up. As it was, her face seemed a little boring and completely naked. Dot felt the urge to cover Hugh's eyes. While the prostitutes out there in their silk and feathers, were not something she was worried about, this was an intimate look at a woman in a way he couldn't see on the street.

“Who are you?” Valerie asked, in a warm, low voice. 

Hugh opened his mouth to say something, but was hit with an elbow into the ribs.

“They are family,” Nell explained, after a moments pause.

“We would like to talk to you, if we could,” Hugh said, catching Dot's elbow on the second attempt to bruise his ribcage. The woman shared a look with Bell, who nodded, then let them into her room. 

The two prostitutes stayed outside in the hall. They felt they had done their duty.

“Tell me, is that _the_ Hugh Collins? The one that trapped the 'Butcher'?” Bell asked after a while of silence. Nell thought this over for a moment, then grinned. 

“The very one.” 

“Handsome,” hummed Bell under her breath. 

“Also, a complete gentleman! And very much devoted to my sister!” Nell said, a little sharper than intended. Her friend looked at her, a knowing smirk around her bright lips. 

“So you went at it with your brother-in-law then? And your sister was fine with that? I wouldn't have thought her quite this liberal.” 

“Pretended,” Nell set her straight, locking her arms over her chest. “And don't underestimate Dot.” 

Staring at the wooden door that hid her family from her eyes, Nell realised that while the truth might be sometimes a little too complicated to explain, she was actually quite proud of her little sister.

 

X

 

“I don't know,” the old man said. He seemed to have shrunk within the last half hour. “She didn't come home from church. I thought she'd gone with a friend. She does that sometimes.” 

Jack wondered for a moment, if he should ask Natalija  Nowak's grandfather if he knew who the young man had been.  Maybe he had an idea. But then, he couldn 't imagine that the kid knew anything much about her. Or cared for that matter. 

“There must be something ya know, Ron. C'mon, think!” Eddie Wenbrock insisted. 

“Why ya need to speak to her so badly, Eddie? Can't it wait till tomorrow? It's not like ya've been ever in a hurry before,” the white haired man grumbled, pulling himself onto his walking stick. 

Wenbrock stared at him, his mouth open.

“Ya didn't think, that I'd not recognise your writing, did ya, son? Natalija might be silly enough to miss what's going on, but I've known ya since ya went barely to my knees.” 

Wenbrock gulped, raking a hand through his hair.

“That is all terribly interesting,” Phryne cut into the conversation, “but we got to find your granddaughter. Is there nothing that could help us?” 

Mr. Nowak looked at the Lady Detective as if he just noticed her for the first time.

“Her things are lying over there.” He pointed at a tiny desk in the corner. “Maybe she's written something in her calender. She keeps one, the silly girl, as if there was anything that she needed to remember, other than goin' to work and shoppin'... and attendin' church,” he added on afterthought. 

Jack was there with three steps. There was a small, paper bound diary that he opened. Little drawings covered most of the pages and tiny, hard to read writing. Natalija seemed to note a little more than appointments into the book and Jack wondered if it was right to read what was private after all. But he also felt that he needed to find her. If she had run scared from their argument, she might be in trouble.

He looked down at Phryne who was happily riffling through the contents of the only drawer, obviously a lot less concerned with confidentiality than he. In fact, Phryne had found exactly what she was looking for. A whole bunch of white envelopes, similar to the one she had found the night before. She slipped one into her bag with neither of the three men watching.

“Nothing in here,” she exclaimed happily. 

Jack flipped through the pages that were filled with emotions and dreams. He felt like he was poking at Natalijas deepest thoughts with a stick, but nevertheless he pushed on, his eyes flying over the pages, hoping that it would bring him closer to her whereabouts.

There were detailed recollections of her meetings with the man, who she simply called F, her pink dreams, slowly turning into a nightmare. But there was also something else, he realised, something between the lines that he couldn't quite put his fingers on. He turned another page, oblivious to Eddie, who stared at him from a safe distance, as if he was scared the diary might burn him.

“Anything?” he asked. Jack shook his head, when something fluttered from the book. Phryne's fingers were faster. She picked up the small piece of paper, reading. 

“It's an address,” she said after a pause. “Of a Nurse Stella Campbell.” 

Behind her back, Eddie Wenbrock paled.

 


	19. Comet

“Are you certain that this is it?” Jack Turner asked Edward Wenbrock. They had been staring at the peeling facade of the two-storey house in Fitzroy for somewhat longer than was strictly unsuspicious. Phryne peeled herself from the wall they were leaning against. 

“Let's find out, shall we?” 

With that she crossed the street. The two men  hurried behind her after a brief exchange of looks. Instead of heading for the door, she was aiming at the alleyway leading past the house, however. 

“What is your plan?” Jack asked, unnecessarily. She was currently eyeing the fence, protecting Mrs. Campell's property from the eyes of the public. 

“Help me, will you,” she said, the Inspector willingly shaping his hands for her to step in and lifting her to reach the top. For a moment, Mrs. Robinson hung in mid-air. 

“Nobody here,” she called down then disappeared. Sighing, Jack found something to grip in the wooden boards and pulled himself up to the top. Breaking and entering on an undercover job. Great. His silent huff went unnoticed, however, while Eddie followed him with less practice but just as much determination. Jack couldn't help but wonder what his motivation was. He hadn't stopped to breath since their encounter behind the church, yet avoided any questions on his connection with Natalija Nowak, other than their families having been friends for many years. Something told Jack that that wasn't the whole story. 

Breathlessly he lowered himself to the ground on the other side, landing in the cool grass that covered the small back yard. Phryne was pressed against the house wall, lifting her finger to her lips for them to be silent. Eddie was puffing even more than himself, the Inspector noticed with some satisfaction, suppressing a cough. They snuck towards the Lady Detective, who was glancing into an open window in the back.

“She's leaving,” she whispered. Seconds later, Phryne reached up to push the window in and climbed through the frame. Without discussion, both men followed her, Jack feeling his heart pound in his chest. It was completely unreasonable to do this, they should have just phoned City South and let his colleagues raid the place. And yet, he was feeling alive in a way he hadn't in days. What made the experience even more treasured to him was the observation that Phryne seemed to have crawled back into her skin. The worry etched on her face was gone, she was glowing with excitement. This was the chase. 

He almost ran into her when she stopped sharply in the door and felt Eddie step onto his heel. Jack swallowed down a curse. Female voices came closer, then passed. The detectives scurried down a hallway. There was a quiet, pained groan from one of the rooms. The door was just ajar and Phryne was the first to glance through the gap, with Jack soon following. Two women were lying on a bed, one of them asleep, the other one curled up in pain. Phryne looked at her husband, who shook his head. Neither of them was Natalija. But very likely one of them had been Helen not too long ago and Jack had every intention of calling Collins as soon as they had found their girl and direct him to Miss Kerby's killers. He felt a leaden weight in his stomach and Phryne's face told him that she experienced the exactly same emotion. The moved on, heading for the next room. Voices sounded again - someone laughed heading down the stairs towards them. Someone else was knocking at the entrance that was only two metres away from where the snooping threesome stood, looking at each other in terror. Jack was the first to react, pushing open the door to a random room in the hope that it would be empty. It probably had been a sitting room at some stage, but there were two beds pushed against the wall, holding more women. Several pairs of curious eyes were turned towards them, but one in particular caught their attention. Natalija, standing in a nightdress - having stopped in the middle of pacing, stared at the intruders with her mouth open. 

“Miss Nowak...” Jack started, not sure how to proceed, but realised that she was looking right past him, white as the wall. 

“Eddie?” she whispered. There was turmoil outside the door, loud voices, shouting. One of them sounded awfully familiar.

“I'm arresting you under suspicion of murder...” 

Jack and Phryne stared at each other in shock, while Wenbrock seemed unable to hear anything but the silent breathing of the girl, who still stood frozen on the carpet. Then she shot past them and out the window, jumping down into the grass with naked feet.

“Natalija,” Eddie yelled. “Don't be stupid!” 

When the other three reached the window, the girl was already half across the yard. Eddie was the first to climb through, his fear giving him wings, Phryne was the second on the ledge, with Jack staring nervously at the door. It flew open the same moment. Constable Collins jaw dropped, when he found himself confronted with his superior officer in the middle of an abortion racket.

“Forget you ever saw us,” Jack hissed, jumping after Phryne and racing across the yard. Dot pushed after her husband into the room, shaking a sensible officer off, who was challenging her to see reason. 

“Was that...?” she asked. Hugh shook his head, turning to the women, who were currently trying to crawl under their bedding. He sounded more than confused, when he spoke. 

“No, that was not the Inspector! Or Miss Fisher! They've never been here at all.” 

 

X

 

He watched in silence, as the other man shuffled about, straightened papers, returned his pencil to its place, and shifted his hat on its stand. By the time, he finally sat down behind his huge polished desk, George Sanderson was near exploding with anxiety. A pair of watery bluish eyes looked at him through thick-rimmed glasses. The Chief Commissioner was used to this ritual. In a way, he appreciated it.

Judge Banks was one of the most rigorous keepers of the law in Melbourne, which was, so George felt, not only tightly connected with the way he currently pushed a pile of folders into a perfectly aligned pile, but also with the fact that he didn't succumb to the variety of attempts at blackmailing or bribing him over the years. The law was the law in his world, and nobody above it, no matter how lucrative a little turning away might be for himself. He also didn't have any family to speak of and there seemed little interest  for him in a life beyond his desk, both probably adding to his stubbornness. Which was probably the main and possibly the only reason, Elaine Browning had ever been convicted. And yet, when he had asked George Sanderson to his office on a Sunday morning, the Commissioner couldn't shake the terrible feeling that his luck might be running out. 

“George,” he finally said. 

“Abraham?” 

A pair of hands was folded carefully.

“I would assume you follow the newspapers?” 

Sanderson's stomach twisted, but he kept his best poker face in place.

“You would assume correctly.” 

“You know that I admire you're work, George, but I will have to ask this: Is there any truth to the accusations?” 

“None, whatsoever.” 

Abraham Banks leaned back in his chair, a very unusual gesture that showed just how tense he was.

“Let me speak openly. I took a great risk at sentencing Mrs. Browning to death by the rope. The people in this city don't appreciate to seeing women hanged.” He paused. “And her family is very powerful, I don't have to remind you of, I am sure.” 

“Indeed you don't,” Sanderson answered stiffly. He couldn't help but wonder, where this was heading. Did Judge Banks in the end go weak in the knees about the vivid imagination of some so called journalists? He sat up straight, feeling like a schoolboy. 

“Abraham, there was no fabrication to the outcome of this case. Mrs. Browning poisoned her husband, deliberately and cruelly. And I am also certain that she was quite involved in her families other deeds.”

“Even though we couldn't prove any of it,” the judge hummed. 

“Well, when was that ever possible?” George asked sharply. “People like the Brownings don't leave anything to chance. The only reason we took down Brad Browning was that he lost his head and tried to shoot me, with about 20 officers of the Melbourne police force as witnesses. Otherwise we would still take him off the streets for minor felonies, a month here or there.” 

Banks hummed unhappily.

“That might very well be. But you are well aware that what really tipped the case wasn't Mrs. Browning killing her husband. Victor Browning was a gangster, a murderer. Nobody cared much about his death beyond relief. But people did care about Inspector Robinson. If I recall correctly, the papers were full of his fate for days. And yet he foolishly never made a statement to the press.” 

“He appeared in the trial.” 

“So he did. And I believed him, as did the rest of the city.” 

“And now you don't?” George asked. “Because someone fabricated a whole new truth, where Elaine Browning is the innocent victim of a conspiracy? Abraham, I was _there_ when we found him. Do you have the slightest idea in what state he was?” 

Sanderson retreated, trying to calm down. He was losing his temper, which was generally a bad idea in the eyes of Judge Banks.

“I've seen his doctor's report,” the other man recalled. “From a Doctor MacMillan, who turns out to be a personal friend of DI Robinson's.” 

Sanderson dipped his head, rubbing sweat off himself with his palm and battling down his anger and frustration.

“George, the reason I called you here today is because I had a visitor last night. You do remember Mrs. Browning's solicitor, I assume.” 

“Naturally.” 

“Well, Mr. Boyd visited my office yesterday at a late hour and demanded the hanging be delayed as there is new evidence and new witnesses have spoken up.” 

“Doubtlessly bought with money from illegal businesses,” Sanderson grumbled under his breath. A pair of eyes glanced at him over the rim of glasses. 

“I cannot ignore this, George. Not under the current circumstances.” 

Something fell with a heavy thump.

“You can't be serious! Are you aware, how dangerous it is for Jack out there right now?!” 

The man stared at each other in surprise. Neither of them had expected the outburst. Sanderson picked up the chair and sank back onto it, fixing his glasses.

“I am told, Inspector Robinson has disappeared from the face of the earth at this stage,” Banks continued after a breathless pause. “Is he safe?” 

“I sent him away on an investigation,” Sanderson admitted. 

“But he could be retrieved, if we needed his word?” 

“In the blink of an eye.” 

Banks smiled enigmatically.

“There will be a hearing tomorrow afternoon, George. I expect that you might want to bring your own witnesses?” 

George Sanderson couldn't help but mirror the smile.

 

X

 

“One would think it would be easy to find a woman clothed in nothing but a nightdress,” Jack grumbled, slamming the door shut behind them. They had returned to their cottage to regroup, but really, none of them had an idea anymore where else to look. They had been to Natalija's home, trying to calm down a confused grandfather; to all surrounding houses where friends of the family lived; had even been to Jones & Willerson's in the hope that she might be hiding in the empty factory and back to St. Joseph's, where Father Bradbury could only shake his head sadly. No one had so much as seen her. 

Eddie sank into a chair, burying his face in his hands. The Inspector sat down opposite him without taking his coat off. Phryne just stood, wondering what else they could do.

“Sorry, I accused ya of bein' that coward of a father,” Eddie Wenbrock said after a pause. 

“Don't mention it.” 

Phryne glanced at her husband, who was coughing quietly into his fist. Then she turned, wordlessly firing up the oven. She wasn't quite sure, if she herself would ever get warm again. The traitorous sunlight was covering up the nasty chill in the air  that stabbed through thin fabrics like little needles. 

“I do wonder though, if yer not some kind of saints and ya aren't the father, why are ya two so worried 'bout her?” Eddie asked quizzically. 

A knock interrupted the conversation, before Jack could come up with a lie. Relieved, he pulled himself to his feet and opened, wanting to slam the door shut the same moment. The face in front of him, was, if somewhat older, also awfully familiar.

“Ahhh, you must be Jack,” Adelheid chirped, when he didn't say anything for a long moment. She stretched out her hand. “Adelheid Willis, and this...” she pointed at a pale man wearing a suit that didn't quite fit him anymore, “is my husband Terry and little Paul and Mindy.” 

The two children stared at Jack, as if he had personally offended them. He greeted with a thin smile and stepped aside for them to enter.

“We actually were wondering if you wanted to join us for the park. We are heading up to the falls, since it's such a wonderfully sunny day. I believe the Carters might join us too. Have you met your next door neighbours, Jack? Lovely people.” 

The Inspector  frowned. 

“I don't think, I have.” 

To his surprise, Eddie laughed.

“Actually, you meet him every day. Mike Carter. Tallish bloke, blonde hair.”

Jack turned to look at Wenbrock, then Phryne, who shrugged.

“He lives next door?” 

“An amusing coincidence,” his wife smiled, holding Jack's gaze. Neither of them believed in coincidences. Adelheid's charming laughter sounded through the kitchen. 

“It is almost a reunion then. Maggy loves the falls, I believe she is up there at least three times a week with the children. So, Mike will have to come along.” 

Phryne was startled out of her thoughts on coincidence, by Eddie mumbling something under her breath. She caught on a second later.

“I apologise Adelheid, but today doesn't suit us very well. We will have to decline your lovely offer. Another time.” 

More laughter, while Te rry hopped uneasily from one foot to the other and the children had started to annoy each other. 

“No worries, my love. Next time will do just fine. Enjoy the beautiful Sunday.” 

In a complicated shuffle, the Family Willis left the Turner's kitchen. When the door had finally closed behind them, Eddie was already back on his feet.

“As a child she was always in the park. Maybe she went out there to think or hide... or something.” 

Seconds later, the three were on their way again. It occurred to Phryne briefly, that finding a woman in the park was like looking for a needle in a hay stack, but then she did like a challenge. And it was better than sitting around. Her heels clacked over cobbles, as they flew down Gipps  Street. Right now, Phryne really longed for her Hispano. She felt like she had  run a marathon this morning. Jack's heavy breathing right behind her, told her that he wasn't feeling any better. A part of her regret ted having dragged him out into the cold today. But who would have thought that a little harmless sleuthing about their Grog Baron would turn into chasing down a young woman across three suburbs? Suddenly, the sound was gone and Phryne threw a look back to see that Jack had stopped to catch his breath. Eddie had slowed down to enquire after his health and Lady Detective was considering if she should turn around when she saw it. The white nightdress fluttered in the wind. On the railing of Collins Bridge sat a female figure, staring into the muddy waters of the Yarra. The river wasn't deep up here, but it had been raining quite heavily lately and the water reached up to the tips lining it's bank, wafting a nauseating smell of rubbish over to the running detectives. The men had spotted the woman too, but Jack grabbed Eddie by the arm and held him back, as he realised that Phryne had stopped, kicking her shoes off. 

Natalija didn't look up, when the other woman climbed on the railing beside her.

“You must be cold,” Phryne said. 

“What business is it of yours?” Natalija asked, shivering. 

“None, really. But I could loan you some clothes and make you a cup of tea. You don't have to go home.” 

The girl looked up for the first time, stared at Phryne.

“My gramp doesn't care,” she said, miserably. “He probably hasn't noticed me bein' gone yet. But Eddie...” She let the end of the sentence hang in the air. 

Phryne glanced at the two men, who were standing out of earshot, watching them with bated breath.

“Eddie just wants you to come home safely,” she said. “He does not seem to care for much else.” 

There was a tiny smile crossing the girls face as quick as a shadow.

“He's a good man,” she whispered. 

“And yet you are going to break his heart?” Phryne asked, staring ahead into the muddy waves of water flowing underneath them. 

“His heart's been broken, since Sarah died.” Pausing, as if looking far into the past, she continued, “I'm expecting a child.”

Phryne nodded.

“I'm sure, we can find a solution for that. Given time.” 

“He saw me at Nurse Campbell's!” 

“You could have just gone to her for a cold,” Phryne fibbed, feeling that she was losing the grip on this conversation again. The young woman shook her head. 

“Everybody knows what she does. And now he's got it into his head that it's Jack Turner's!” 

Phryne couldn't hide the smile spreading over her face.

“I know.” 

There was silence, as the young woman stared at her.

“Yer his wife, aren't ya?” she said, her voice shrill. “That's why yer here!” 

Shocked, Phryne stared at the girl then  shook her head. The two men on the ground seemed to  now be arguing silently. 

“No, Natalija. We've been looking for you all over.” 

But something about the day had caught up on the girl, she wasn't listening. Phryne noticed with a sense of terror that she was edging away on the thin metal railing.

“It's not his! He didn't so much as touch me!” the girl yelled, close to tears. Time slowed down, as Mrs. Robinson watched her slip. 

 


	20. Neptune

Natalija tried to catch her balance but it was too late. Her hands gripped for empty air. Phryne flung herself forward, without falling herself, but held only on to a strain of blonde hair, as the girl vanished in the muddy waters. Cursing,  Mrs. Robinson peeled her coat from her shoulders. 

“Phryne, no!” she heard Jack yell, who was halfway down to the bank by now, but staring up at her without stopping to run. It was insanity to jump and a shot of adrenaline flooded the Lady Detective's veins. Seconds later the cold water closed around her body. Phryne spluttered, as the current of the Yarra took over her limbs. There was a blonde head bopping somewhat downstream. The two men were chasing along the bank, their coats fluttering in the wind. Phryne started swimming, fighting the chill invading her, numbing her. Dying herself would definitely not improve this day, she decided, pushing herself forward. A wave spilled over her head. The river was angry about the disturbance. 

“Phryne!” 

There was more shouting out there, other people had noticed the turmoil and had come to enjoy the show. But Jack's voice and the gurgling of water was all she could hear. There was the head again. Natalija had managed to grab onto something, maybe a rock, it didn't really matter. She was withstanding the pull of the water. Phryne got to her moments later. Her feet found the ground, while her arms grabbed for the girl, who was fighting to stay above the surface.

“Stop struggling,” Phryne all but yelled, when she was hit in the face by a trashing arm. “I'd like us both to survive this!” Slowly, trying to keep her grip, she edged closer to the bank with the heavy weight of a squirming woman in her arms. She saw Jack running into the shallower waters, followed by Eddie. His clothes were soaked through, his steps slowed down by the Yarra, but he was battling his way towards her. Phryne mobilised her last strengths to propel both of them towards the approaching men. Natalija was sobbing now, but had given up the fight against her, and Phryne's sympathy for the girl returned. She hadn't willingly jumped, and Mrs. Robinson shouldn't feel quite so angry. But she was cold and grumpy now and there was still a meter that seperated her from Jack. 

When she got close enough, she could see the tears in his eyes, but nevertheless, he took Natalija from her arms, together with Eddie dragging her to the bank where a horde of onlookers had collected by now.

“It's the little Nowak,” someone said and excited mumbling was the answer. Phryne stepped out of the Yarra behind them almost unnoticed, water pouring from her clothes. Jack looked at her from where he was kneeling beside the young woman, then grabbed his discarded coat from the ground and wrapped it around his wife's shoulders, his hand resting a little longer on her than was strictly necessary. Phryne knew that he wouldn't give into his need to hold her until they'd get home. But right now that really was all she wanted. The sky had clouded over within the last half hour and a cold wind picked up, causing her to shiver. Natalija sat on the ground utterly quiet while the crowd of people surrounded them. Her eyes sought out her guardian and Phryne nodded, stepping between the curious neighbours. 

“Alright. We will take it from here, thank you for your help!” she said, not without sarcasm. While they grumpily retreated, she nodded to Eddie, who helped his friend to her shaky feet and wrapped his coat around her. With a glance at her naked feet, he picked her up, carrying her. Natalija seemed too tired to protest. The two detectives stood for a moment, watching the retreating couple in silence. 

“Don't you dare,” Phryne said, glancing at the neighbours still scattered in close distance, hoping there would be more to be seen. 

“As you wish,” Jack grinned, offering her his arm. She took it and with as much dignity as her stockinged feet and shivering body allowed, Fanny Turner followed the bank of the Yarra back to Collins Bridge where she collected the rest of her clothing. 

 

X

 

Hugh Collins sat in silence beside his wife on a hospital chair, waiting for the verdict. Finally, Doctor MacMillan entered.

“Even though there are a few worries, none of the ladies is in a critical state at this point in time,” she said, leaning against her desk. 

Hugh nodded.

“One will never have children,” she stated after along moment of silence, trying to ignore the way Dot's hand automatically searched for her own bump as if to make sure it wasn't her. Instead the Doctor circled her desk and sat down. 

“And I would like to keep all five here under surveillance for the time being. The hygiene in those places is mostly shocking and infections likely to develop.” 

Dot thought of one of the rusty instruments they had found in the bathroom and shuddered.

“Can I speak with them?” Constable Collins asked. 

“You can make an attempt at it,” Mac sighed. “But they likely won't talk to you. To be frank, Constable, I think you will be wasting your breath. Those women know if they are to admit that they have had an abortion, they will go to jail. Where would lie their motivation to speak?” 

Hugh twisted his helmet on his lap.

“A young girl died! Surely they cannot just ignore that,” Dot protested.

The Doctor shrugged.

“Most of these girls have families. Would you go to prison, leaving your husband and child to devastation, just to be a witness in a murder?” 

Hugh glanced at his Dottie, who looked like someone had slapped her. Then she shook her head, hardly visible. Cleared her throat.

“No, I probably would not.” 

“See? Neither will those women. I am happy for you to speak to them, even though I would recommend you wait until tomorrow. They are tired and upset; Mrs. Binch is running a fever.”

She glanced up from the papers she had been studying, looking at the police officer with  something like  pleading  in her eyes. The Constable stiffly got to his legs. 

“Thank you for your help, Doctor. I will see them in the morning.”

In the door he turned.

“Oh and Doctor MacMillan, please make sure that they are still here for my return.” 

Mac smiled. So did Hugh, before an insistent hand dragged him out into the hallway.

 

X

 

Jack peeled himself out of his pants with some effort and hung them over the back of a chair. The fire crackled happily in the small wood-burning oven.

“So, what exactly holds you back from approaching her?” Jack asked the man who was changing beside him out of his own wet clothes. Eddie stopped in buttoning up one of Jack's spare shirts and looked at him, then turned away, when he realised that the Inspector was wearing little more than his undergarments at this stage. 

“I don't follow,” he grumbled, continuing to pull some socks over his freezing feet. 

“Wrong way around,” Jack pointed out with a knowing grin. Indistinct murmuring was the only answer he got for a long moment. 

“Your attraction to Miss Nowak is more than obvious,” he finally said casually, while buttoning up his pants. “My experience shows that there is very little use in denying such depth of feeling.” 

“Does it now?” Eddie murmured. 

“Very much so.” 

The other half dressed man sank onto a chair, sighing in surrender.

“And what would it accomplish if I open my trap? My wife Sarah, she died in childbirth. So I have a little one at home and an old mother, who's half blind but takes care of the girl when I'm at work. Ya know betta than anyone that ya get not enough to live but too much to die at Willerson's. So, I can't afford to get married again or drag up another child. And that's even if she'd have me.” 

Frustrated, he got to his feet and pushed the chair in so hard that it smacked against the table. Jack had locked his arms over his chest, trying to protect himself from both, Wenbrock's anger and the wave of devastation he keenly felt.

“What if I could help?” he asked on impulse. Wenbrock looked at him quizzically. 

“You? How could ya help then, Turner?” 

Jack gulped. He hadn't thought this trough at all. Then he shrugged.

“I don't know. But we could find a way, given time...” He trailed off and cleared his throat. 

“Do you want a cup of tea?” he asked in sudden resolve. Jack still hadn't talked to Phryne and feared that the scene in the river had endangered their cover enough as it was. Let alone the fact that Collins had seen them in an abortion racket. It was probably best to leave this one alone until they were out of here. 

“You two don't belong here, do ya?” he heard a voice behind himself, when he grabbed for the teapot. Startled, Jack turned. There was a certain glitter in Eddie's eyes. 

“You yelled her name before, repeatedly. Phryne.” 

“It's just a nickname,” Jack tried to lie, knowing that there was no point. He cursed himself for having lost his head when she had vanished in the muddy waters. 

“Oh, don't take me for a fool, Turner. I recognised her. And she lied to my face.” 

The Inspector fiddled with the teapot, unsure what to say. To his surprise the other man laughed.

“Don't worry, your secret's save with me.” 

The Inspector  was still feverishly searching for words. 

“Look, we are-” 

But Eddie shook his head.

“Don't wanna know, mate. Don't wanna know. Whatever yer up to, it's none of my business. You dragged Natalija out of the river. I owe ya for that. But Cromms was there at the Yarra, he's heard it too. I'd worry 'bout him, if I was you. He can't keep his trap shut about anythin' much.” 

Jack was suddenly feeling hot. A trickle of sweat ran down his cheek and he decided to step away from the stove and set the  still empty teapot on the table. 

“I wonder what they are doing in there,” he said, willing the bedroom door to open. 

“It's women, mate. They take a while to get dressed,” Eddie grinned. Jack sat down, tapping his fingers onto the wooden tabletop. While he made small talk with his co-worker, his thoughts were racing. He had stupidly blown their cover. What would they do now? 

Meanwhile, Phryne had just finished helping a reluctant Natalija into a dry set of clothing and had  sat the silent woman onto the edge of  the  bed  she shared with Jack, to get changed herself. Unbottoning her skirt, she noticed a shape in her pocket and pulled a soaked envelope from  it , dripping  muddy  water o nto the floor. She had actually intended to return the letter after reading it. That seemed out of the question. Glancing at Natalija, she decided that the  exhausted  girl didn 't care and laid the piece onto her night stand. She couldn't have been more wrong. 

“What are you doing with that?” Natalija asked, suddenly very much awake and also very angry. “That's mine!” 

Phryne smiled, dropping her soaked blouse on the floor  while shivering in the cool air. 

“Yes, it is. I told you that we were looking for you.” 

“And ya thought ya'd find me in an envelope?” the girl sniped. 

Mrs. Robinson didn't answer straight away. She thought about how to tackle this obviously delicate subject while picking out fresh clothes. There weren't many options, she noticed with concern and her intended washing day had been thwarted by their search for Natalija.

“I thought that I might find a hint as to your whereabouts, if I figure out why you keep a stack of anonymous letters in your drawer,” she stated carefully, sitting down beside the young woman. That wasn't the whole truth of course, but Phryne couldn't exactly explain to her the details of her curiosity. Natalija pondered her words for a long time. 

“I don't know, who they're from,” she finally offered. Phryne nodded. 

“What does he write?” 

There was a little, traitorous smile spreading over Natalija's lips, as she recalled, completely oblivious to Phryne's choice of words.

“Just... things. Lovely things. I thought at first that Frank had written them. But he got really angry when I showed him. Called me names.” 

She swallowed, staring at her hands.

“He's said he can't marry me after that. Like it's my fault that I get letters.” 

Mrs. Robinson grasped for Natalija's fingers.

“I don't think a man who truly planned a future with you had been deterred by a bunch of letters you received,” Phryne pointed out in her most gentle voice. 

The other woman looked up, nodding grimly.

“That's what ya get for bein' blind and stupid. Gramps warned me. And now I'm stuck in the family way and Eddie knows and he's gonna tell Gramps and...” 

There were tears threatening to emerge again and Phryne took a firmer grasp on the hand in hers, stroking a lock of ash blonde hair from the girls cheek.

“Listen, Natalija. Eddie won't betray you. He cares for you.” 

“How do you know?” the girl asked, unable to completely hide a telling smile. 

“I just do. Call it intuition if you must,” Phryne lied. There was silence for a long moment. 

“Look, maybe I can help you,” the Lady Detective said. A pair of muddy green-grey eyes stared at her questioningly.

“How do you mean...?” 

“I'm a very resourceful woman,” Phryne quipped, getting to her feet. “And I will come up with something.” 

There was no answer; just a nod that was almost too subtle to notice. 

 

X

 

Inspector Morgan smiled mildly. The two women kept arguing. Stella Campbell and her sister-in-law, a Mrs. Marlene Gillam had been solid at it for  more than ten minutes . Of course, neither of them had ever heard about a woman being aborted in their house, but they couldn 't quite figure out if they knew Helen Kerby or not. Their husbands, both sitting in a cell of City South at this point in time, had never heard of her and in difference to the current occupants of the interviewing room, the Inspector believed them. They probably did not care too much about where the money came from they lived off. That they hadn't noticed what Nurse Campbell had been doing in their bathroom was highly unlikely or that they had never wondered where the women in their random bedrooms were coming from. But they probably wouldn't have been curious enough to ask Helen for her name. Mrs. Campbell might not have been either. Mrs. Gilliam on the other hand...

The Inspector cleared his throat.

“Constable?” he asked in a low voice that went unheard.

“Constable!” he repeated, in his usual singsong. Jones jerked awake from a daydream. 

“Sir?” 

“Would you please escort Mrs. Campbell back to her cell?” 

When both women rose he lifted his hand, making a calming gesture.

“Only you, Mrs. Campbell, please. I'd like a private word with your sister-in-law.” 

The two women looked at each other, both confused and worried.

“I'll see you later, Marlene,” Nurse Campbell said. It sounded like a threat. The Inspector waited until the door had closed. 

“There is nothing I have to say,” Mrs. Gillam protested, before he had a chance to utter a word. Morgan nodded. 

“You know, I believe that Mrs. Campbell was trying to do a good thing,” he said gently. The woman's face spoke clearly to him. She was not convinced of her sister-in-law's charity. “These are hard times,” Inspector Morgan went on in an almost serene tone. “And there are many desperate women out there.” 

He watched the heavy gulp in the throat of his opposite and waited. But Mrs. Gillam stayed quiet.

“Maybe women like her are really saints,” he said, smiling mildly, “relieving women of their troubles, doing the good thing.” 

Marlene Gillam slowly turned a darker shade, looking like she was going to explode soon. But still she stayed silent. When the Inspector finally opened his mouth to push further, she burst out with an almost hysteric laugh.

“She sure did relieve the women. Mostly of their savings. A true saint she is.” 

Marlene closed her mouth, looking shocked at herself. Inspector Morgan smiled mildly, circling his prey. The woman stared at her fingers, they were clasped together, moving nervously. When she spoke again, her voice had changed to an almost whisper.

“I think she probably did mean well, when she started. You know, there are so many girls out there. It's easy for the churches to preach that it's all a gift of god. But you can't love them, if you can't feed them.” 

The officer nodded, unwilling to interrupt her, but she seemed done. He had noted the tears glittering in Gillam's eyes. So, it wasn't all just money.

“You helped her?” he asked after a break. 

The woman shrugged.

“I'm not a nurse or a midwife. I just kept an eye on the girls when she was done with her procedures, kept them company, fed them, alarmed her when things went awry.” 

“As they did with Helen Kerby?” 

A hint of defiance returned.

“What makes you so certain that she came to Stella? She isn't the only one, you know-”

“We found this necklace in Mrs. Campbells belongings.”

The Inspector tipped a thin string of silver with a small, blackened pendant from a paper bag onto the tabletop. Marlene reached out her fingertips to touch it, then pulled her hand back as if she had been burned.

“It was Miss Kerby's. She had received it as a gift from her grandmother for her 13th birthday,” Inspector Morgan explained quietly. Mrs. Gillam didn't answer, just stared at the cheap piece of jewellery. 

“I knew that her greed would someday break our neck,” she finally whispered. She drew a deep breath into her lungs, again reaching out for the necklace. Morgan let her. He guessed that it was quite impossible that she could tamper with the evidence right in front of his eyes. 

“She wore it when she walked through the door, a young girl, quite pretty and very determined that she needed to get rid of her problem. She and Stella almost caused a scene, when she didn't have enough money but wouldn't leave. Handed over the necklace, but of course...” Marlene smiled thinly. “...this isn't worth much.” She dropped the silver onto the wooden surface. 

“Stella finally agreed to do the procedure, probably more to get her peace. I'm not sure if her reluctance made her less careful, I don't understand anything of it. But the girl was bleeding quite heavily. Stella managed to stop it, but half an hour later I found the girl in pain and soaked in her own blood, half unconscious. But she was still insulting me.” A thin smile accompanied the bitter memories. “We carried her back to the bathroom, tried again. We must have been in there an hour. But she just wouldn't stop bleeding. Something about the baby being stuck.” 

Mrs. Gillam trailed off, wrapped the necklace around her fingers. She seemed reluctant to continue, but the Inspector wasn't going to give her any more. He just waited. And, as expected, she spoke only little later.

“I held her hand when she passed. There was nothing I could do. Just feed her brandy and wait for her to die. Stella... I think she might have been scrubbing the blood from the bathroom. ” 

Morgan nodded.

“I don't think she didn't care,” Marlene said, choking back tears. “She's just not good with things like that.” 

“So, it wasn't the first time?” the Inspector asked. Mrs. Gillam winced. 

“Not the first time things went wrong. The first time, the girl died while she was still in the house,” she finally admitted. 

“Why didn't you call a doctor?” he asked. 

“I wanted to... but Stella told me, they aren't miracle workers either. And...” she rubbed her cold hands together, finally letting go of the necklace. “...I am scared of gaol.” 

Morgan leaned back in his chair, trying to sort through his thoughts. Marlene Gillam was not a bad woman. Probably even Stella Campbell wasn't a monster. They had provided a dangerous service to desperate women and they had lived well from it. Yet, he wasn't certain if locking them up really made the world a better place. There were people in the world who couldn't afford morals. Many of them lived in places like Fitzroy and Collingwood. And shutting down Nurse Campbell would likely only make room for someone else to fill the void. Morgan sighed. He loved his job, but there were days where he felt like Don Quixote, fighting wind mills.

 


	21. Meteor Shower

The man leaned against the wall, smoking a cigarette. There was a dribble of rain and the back alley smelled rather unpleasant. After the third inspection of his wrist watch, finally the outline of a lanky man appeared between the dark houses.

“It's Sunday,” he grumbled when his contact approached, instead of a greeting. The other man smiled. 

“So it is.” 

“What's this about then?” 

“Sanderson just telephoned me. There is a hearing tomorrow afternoon and he wants Robinson to appear.” 

“That's bloody inconvenient timing.” 

“It just means we might have to rush things a little bit.” 

There was another thin smile, before the men parted. While a cigarette was rubbed out on the cobbles, the rain picked up.

 

X

 

When the door finally closed behind their guests, Phryne sank onto a chair, pouring herself a glass of the brandy that Adelheid had brought over. She sniffed it carefully, then took a sip. It was strong, no doubt, but she could still feel the chill in her bones and a cold was about the last thing she needed right now. She glanced at Jack, who was staring onto the table top unseeingly, obviously pondering something. The unwilling bath likely hadn't improved his health either.

“What's on your mind, Jack?” she asked casually. He looked up, disapproval ghosting over his features when he spotted the glass in her hand. But he didn't say anything. 

“Wenbrock heard me yell your name.” 

Silence answered his statement.

“I assume he drew the right conclusions?” Phryne asked, peeling herself from her chair to get a second glass. 

“Yes. And he also pointed out that another one of our co-workers also witnessed the scene at the river.” 

Phryne set down the glass in front of Jack and poured him a generous amount.

“It could just be a nickname, Jack. Fanny or Phryne? Who can tell the difference?” 

Hesitantly, Jack picked up the glass, taking a deep gulp. The heat burning down his throat reminded him of a bushfire, rather than the pleasant smouldering of Phryne's whisky.

“Your friend Wenbrock, for example,” he stated dryly. 

Phryne rolled her eyes.

“But then, Eddie knew who I was. Your other acquaintance-”

“Oliver Cromms.” 

“Mr. Cromms does not. And I told you that Eddie is able to keep a secret. Don't you worry, Jack, people will talk more about you heroically throwing yourself into the Yarra, than what name you called your wife.” 

She smiled, leaning against the tabletop beside him and taking another sip of the horrible brandy.

“If I recall correctly, Mrs. Turner, it was mostly you throwing yourself heroically, and may I add recklessly, into the river.” 

His hand settled onto her hipbone, while looking up at her with soft eyes. Phryne set down her drink and ran her fingers through his hair.

“I don't think there was an overwhelming number of choices, Jack.” 

He tilted his head, considering this, without tearing his eyes from her.

“It didn't occur to you that _not_ jumping off a bridge into unknown waters might be the better option?” 

“The girl could have drowned while we thought out a strategy on how to best approach saving her,” Phryne quipped. She felt his hand tighten around her hip, revealing what he wouldn't say. Her hand slipped down to cup his cheek. 

“I had no intentions of dying, Jack.” 

He nodded with little conviction, then grabbed for her, pulling her onto his lap. Phryne giggled, as she lost her balance.

“I'd prefer if you didn't, Miss Fisher,” he whispered into her ear, before burying his face in the nook of her neck. “The world would be a nasty place without your company.” 

Phryne felt her heart leap, as his arms wrapped tightly around her, pulling her against his warm chest. This was probably the closest a sober Jack Robinson would come to a sentimental outburst. But really, there was no need for words. His roaming hands, not searching for anything but contact, his heart drumming against his ribcage, told her exactly what she needed to know. She wove her arms around his neck and leaned her cheek against his hair, inhaling his unique scent.

Albert, from his seat in the corner of the window, watched the two people silently entwined on a kitchen chair that creaked quietly in protest of the abuse. People really were strange. But at least he did get a show with those two. There was nothing quite as annoying as an empty house. He even preferred the nasty child of the last occupants, who had kept trying to poke him with its chubby fingers. As if he was a pet. The spider huffed quietly, swapping sides in a complicated turning manoeuvre of eight legs. Rain drummed against the window, while the fire happily crackled along.

The occupants of the small cottage seemed oblivious to all of this. While Jack pressed tiny kisses to her neck, Phryne could feel his body responding to her nearness, yet his arms appeared completely unwilling to let go of her, even to follow his urges. A quiet growl of her stomach pointed out that this wasn't the only hunger waiting to be sated either. It had been a long time since breakfast.

“Jack?” she whispered barely audible. 

“Hmm?” was all the answer she received. It tickled. 

“Jack, if we fall asleep like this, we will probably get hurt. Also, I might starve,” Phryne pointed out with a smile. Reluctantly, his grip on her eased and he withdrew far enough to meet her eyes. His wife swallowed down her shock. He looked absolutely wretched, as if his body had waited for time to calm down, before showing the effects of their crazy chase through the cold. But he was also smiling. 

“Do you have any plans for tea then?” he asked, his voice raspy, but so upbeat that she couldn't bring herself to point it out. 

“None,” Phryne admitted happily. “We might have to scrape together crumbs.” 

“Well, we had better have a look then.” 

Gently, the Inspector removed his wife from her comfortable place on his lap, shivering in the sudden cold. He was quite certain that he was running a fever now, but he wasn't in the slightest bit tempted to inform her. The long day was showing on Phryne's face and worrying her wasn't part of his intentions.

“There was some soup left over. That should take care of the worst,” she stated into his thoughts in an overly upbeat voice, opening the back door to inspect the small coolgardie safe crouching against the wall. Luckily, the rain had trailed off to a lazy drizzle. 

Jack followed a second later, finding his wife kneeling on the wet ground over a tipped over pot. She didn't say a word, while she started to clean up the mess. He crouched down beside her.

“I forgot it,” she said tonelessly. “I wanted it to cool down first and I forgot.” 

“Probably a cat,” Jack said, grabbing her wrist and pulling her to her feet. A pot clanked onto the ground loudly. The Inspector watched his wife, a woman throwing herself into rivers and onto gangsters without a second thought, stare at the floor, as if a pot of spilled soup was doubtlessly the end of the world. 

“I just forgot, Jack,” she repeated. Her voice was close to hysterics and the Inspector just pulled her into his arms. He wasn't often allowed to comfort her, but this he felt, was one of those rare occasions. 

“I just forgot. And we are going to starve now.” 

To his utter shock, she started to cry.

“Nonsense,” he whispered into her hair, “It's just soup, Phryne.” 

But his words seemed to only make her sob louder. Helplessly, he wrapped her into his arms and held onto her, whispering soothing words to her that he was sure, went unheard. It seemed unreal. He had witnessed Phryne's tears a few times within their acquaintance, be it over the death of her sister or a firm belief that he was set on leaving her, but she had never, never before sobbed about anything so silly as a cat tipping over a soup pot. It was utterly disturbing that she was able to shed tears over something so trivial. And even though he felt powerless in the face of her deep pain and vulnerability, Jack also sensed, that a door had been opened to him that hadn't even been there before.

The Inspector had not the slightest idea what to do and so he just held her tightly and tenderly, like an exquisite treasure, till her sobbing stopped. He felt her resurface from the darkness she had been swimming in, even before she tried to struggle out of his grasp, brushing the tears from her face as if they were an embarrassing piece of evidence against her being invincible. She was pushing him away, and Jack suddenly knew that he wouldn't have any of it.

“Phryne,” he said, holding her shoulders, despite her squirming. She succumbed but stared stubbornly past him. 

“I'm sorry,” she said, trying to sound sober and attempting a watery smile. “I'm not sure what got into me, but pressed for an explanation, I will plead temporary insanity.” 

Jack didn't correct her. Instead he leaned in and kissed her on the forehead.

“I love you,” he said, equally sober and with total sincerity. The shock displayed on her face lured a smile onto his features that he tried to hide quickly. 

“Now, Mrs. Turner, I think it is time we prepared some tea.” 

By the hand he pulled her over to the construction of wood, wire and hessian that kept their groceries in an edible state. There was not much to be had, he realised after a moment. The oranges and apples that Phryne had bought, but neither of them had had time to eat as of yet, stared back at him, along with some stray eggs from her first shopping trip and a pint of milk that he had collected on his way home from the factory, in the hope of escaping camomile tea.

“I'm afraid we are stuck with stale bread, Jack,” Phryne said, swallowing down another apology. She felt embarrassed as well as tired and irritated. Losing her head over spilled chicken soup was really not how she had imagined her evening with Jack to play out. But what confused her even more was his reaction. She didn't get any time to think about it, as he shoved the eggs at her with little ceremony and slammed the door shut, milk and apples in his hands. 

“Stale bread will do,” he grinned, walking past her and to the back door. “You coming?” he asked, stopping in the door frame and Phryne hurried after him, just as a drop of rain splashed onto her face. 

“What are you doing?” she asked, after a long moment of watching him chop the hardening loaf of bread into crumbly slices. 

“I'm cooking tea,” he said, without turning, while he started to butcher the apple. “I'm sure your mother made bread-and-butter pudding at some stage. Mine did a lot.” 

“That's not tea, it's dessert,” Phryne protested, smiling. “And we don't have any butter.” 

“Bread pudding then,” Jack corrected, rummaging through the cabinet. “And when exactly did you begin to mind the idea of skipping tea and going straight to dessert, Phryne?” 

He finally turned to wink at her in a way that probably had caused her to blush, had she been prone to such a silly waste of time. With an absent smile, she sat down, watching Jack work away. So, she hadn't sunk in his opinion, it occurred to her, not turned into a weak, little woman in his eyes, just because she had had a moment. Phryne felt strangely light headed.

Her experience with men had shown over the years that weakness was something many of them preyed on. Like Dubois. They either despised or adored a woman for being strong and the same was true for her being vulnerable. Phryne was quite certain that Jack admired her strengths, loved her lust for adventure and her sense of justice. It had always fascinated her that he also appeared to support her in her weak moments. But then, there had always been good reasons for those. Serious injuries, dead sisters and reappearing ex-wives generally had a right to get the better of you. Something that couldn't be said about chicken soup, as much as you twisted it. But he didn't make the impression of thinking her silly or hysteric at all. Almost as if he treasured her moment of pointless vulnerability.

Thoughtfully, Phryne stared at where he was drawing lines of honey over the bread for lack of sugar. It wasn't as if no man had ever cooked for her before, she had had a brief affair with a French chef many years ago, but something about watching Jack stir eggs into milk, was utterly intimate. It occurred to her with sudden clarity, that he didn't think her silly, because she hadn't been. It wasn't the spoiled tea that had overwhelmed her and Jack... knew. He had seen her. Phryne felt herself tremble, even though it was incredibly warm in the kitchen. So this was what happened, when she showed him everything. Nothing at all. She wanted to laugh and cry, all at the same time.

Jack didn't even flinch, when a pair of arms snaked around his chest and a pair of warm breasts were pressed against his back. He just smiled and kept beating the eggs – Which was not quite the reaction, Phryne was used to. And while a gentle bite into his shoulder did draw a soft groan from him, he didn't seem willing to stop what he was doing. She would have to resort to more drastic measures, it seemed. A hand rubbing over the front of his pants almost caused Jack to drop the milk.

“Miss Fisher,” he growled hoarsely, once the stars behind his lashes had subsided, “this is not helping the progression of dinner.” 

“But Jack, you did say you wanted to skip straight to dessert.” 

It was more the smile he could hear in her voice than the cheeky words, that caused him to turn around, now wedged between her warm body and the kitchen counter. To his relief he found that she seemed to have completely recovered from her brief loss of composure. The smirk on her face actually belonged very much to the Honourable Phryne Fisher, someone this woman couldn't hide even under the most coarse of clothes and the cheapest of make-ups. Jack couldn't resist trailing a thumb along her jawline, fighting the temptation and losing rapidly. So he succumbed and allowed himself to lean in for a tender kiss, which was just fine, until he felt her hand slip into his trousers. He withdrew, grabbed for her wrist and with gentle force removed her from himself.

“While I am not at all opposed to your intentions, Phryne, I am also hungry. So please, you need to stop distracting me.” 

The way she batted her lashes at him could have melted ice in the Antarctic. He wouldn't have it. His stomach was growling and she must have been ravenous as well  \-  and not only for his body. But she merely grinned at him, closing the gap and returned to former activities. He could feel  her length pressed up against him, and the heat in his veins didn't only derive from his fever at this stage, the Inspector was quite aware. She knew exactly how to drive him to distraction. 

“If you want me to stop,” she whispered beside his ear, “you'll have to make me.” 

There was a challenging glitter in her eyes and Jack gulped. While he had more than once willingly surrendered into her desires – even though he had forbidden her to use his handcuffs for her games, ever since a minor incident with a lost key – he had always shied away from returning the favour. Despite cherishing to now and then get the upper hand in their dance, he dreaded the implication of forcing her into anything against her will.

As he stood silent ly , pondering what to do with her challenge, a sneaky hand started to play with the buttons of his trousers. 

“So, Jack? No dinner then?” Mrs. Robinson smiled, innocence itself. Instead of answering, he almost forcefully closed her lips with his. Phryne lost her breath for a moment and found herself being spun and lifted onto the kitchen counter. Her body was responding rapidly to Jack's sudden boldness. She couldn't help but love the rare occasions, when he lost his head enough to forget being a gentleman. While she drifted in the touch of his hot lips and the sensation of his thighs rubbing against hers, she had almost missed it. Startled, she broke off the kiss to watch his hands, which were busy knotting a tea towel around her wrists. Phryne held her breath, feeling her heartbeat speed up. There was a hint of doubt in his eyes, when he looked up at her and she leaned in to catch his mouth with her own, set on wiping his fears away. 

His lips had grown hungrier, his hands more determined and Phryne couldn't help the rush of the situation flooding her senses. Even though her bound hands couldn't reach much where they were trapped between them, she was  slowly  working her way back into his trousers, while he was busy  exploring her neck . She sobered, when the Inspector took a sudden step backwards, leaving her bereft of his warmth. Maybe it had been a mistake to lure him into this game after all. 

“Jack?”

Disappointment began to settle in her stomach, just when she realised that his flushed face didn't look worried at all. Instead, he seemed strangely content. In fact, he was holding another towel between his  hands , slowly sliding it through his fingers, lost in thought. Before she had time to react, he had threaded it through the existing one and pulled her arms over her head, fastening her wrists to a hook that had probably once been used for drying herbs. Whoever had put it there would probably have blushed at the squirming Lady Detective currently attached to it. But despite the tempting view, Jack retreated, yet again. 

“What are you doing?” she asked, realising that she sounded awfully out of breath. 

“Finishing dinner,” he smiled, taking the two steps over to where the half done pudding was still waiting. Phryne watched him in confusion, then realised that he was playing exactly the game, she had started. 

“This is not quite how I expected this to work out,” she pouted, lightly pulling on the tea towels holding her in place, just to realise that Jack hadn't lied about his ability to tie knots. 

“Pleased to hear it, Miss Fisher. I should point out, however, that you _did_ ask me to stop you,” he grinned, glancing at her from where he was pouring the milk mixture over the slices of bread and apple. “And I am also still hungry.” 

Phryne nodded, realising that her stomach was complaining loudly. She had briefly forgotten about her own need for food. Now it was back with full force. So, maybe her husband had a point. The realisation didn't make her any happier.

“So am I, Jack,” she smirked, but her attempt to tease him went unrecognised. She had no choice but to watch until Jack had put the form into the oven, stifling a coughing attack, before turning. 

“Now, where did we stop?” he asked, reaching out to run a hand along her side. 

“At dessert, Inspector.” 

Jack looked at her glittering eyes, her arched back, the smile playing around her red lips. There was definitely nothing submissive about her. Truly restraining Phryne was an impossible undertaking. She also probably could have wriggled out of his bounds, but chose not to do so. Jack felt excitement flood his veins, his heart pound in his chest. It took all his self-control to not give into her luring smile and just tear her skirt away. Instead, he returned his hand to her neck, slowly, gently, running his fingers down to her blouse, where he started undoing the flimsy fabric, button for button. Phryne was watching his every move with dark eyes, her chest heaving under his touch. It occurred to him, that she had fallen completely silent.

“You alright?” he whispered. She just nodded, biting her lip. Her body didn't leave any doubt to this, reaching out to him as far as her tied wrists would allow, her nipples pressing hard through the fabric of her undergarments. Jack stepped between her thighs, pulling her head into a gentle kiss, while his fingers went on a wander over her half exposed body. He was quite satisfied with the sounds he lured from her throat but when his hand slipped up her thigh, she actually threw her head back with a loud moan. He kissed her hurriedly. 

“Shhs,” he made. Phryne pressed her lips together, smiling. She couldn't have cared less about the neighbours at this stage, but this was Jack Robinson. And it was his game. So she let her head loll back against the cool kitchen wall and watched him, trying to stay silent. It was getting hard by the time his mouth reached her breasts and near impossible, when he had peeled off her underwear down to her navel. By the time he brushed up her skirt and started to kiss the inside of her thigh, she had forgotten about neighbours, games and the rest of the world completely. 

 


	22. Ultraviolet

He was absent-mindedly stirring in his mash, building a little mountain.

“Hugh?” he heard his wife ask. He started.

“I'm sorry, Dottie, I was just thinking.”

But Dorothy just smiled, putting her hand over his.

“The girls?”

“It seems unfair,” he exclaimed. “They should be able to be happy they are having children, not die, trying to fix the 'problem'.”

Dot chewed on her lip in thought, while she pierced some peas with her fork.

“It's not that easy though,” she finally said vaguely.

“I know that,” he said quietly. For a while, neither of them said anything, while their food went cold on the plates.

“Why do you think the Inspector was there?” he finally asked. “And Mrs. Robinson?”

His wife didn't look up from her plate.

“Maybe the racket was what they were looking for.”

A small smile lit up Hugh's face. The idea of the Inspector returning soon, was a real comfort to him. Even though he was starting to like Inspector Morgan, he missed Robinson and his wife. Glancing at Dottie, he decided that he didn't want to share this with her. It would come out rather strangely.

“I hope they are back soon now,” she sighed. “I miss them.”

“So do I,” he admitted, after a beat. They shared an embarrassed half-smile over the table and returned to eating their cold mash, when a knock came to the door.

“Are you expecting anyone?” Hugh asked, already on his feet. Dottie shook her head. The surprise was huge, when the Constable realised, who had found the way to their doorstep.

“Sanderson?... I mean, good evening, Commissioner.”

Hugh cleared his throat, missing the glimmer of amusement in his opposites eye.

“Good evening, Constable. May I?”

Collins felt himself blush, but stepped aside.

“Of course, Sir,” he stuttered.

George Sanderson wandered past him and straight into the kitchen, where he greeted Dot. She examined him with open distrust, before offering him a drink which he declined and a seat that he took. Hugh hesitantly sat down, feeling it was unreal to have the Chief Commissioner haunt his kitchen.

“I am terribly sorry to interrupt your dinner,” he quipped, not looking sorry at all, while he set down his hat. “But the reasons for my visit are rather urgent.”

The spouses shared a look over the table.

“I trust you follow the newspapers reporting on Elaine Browning's pending execution?”

“Naturally,” Dot quipped, unwilling to be impressed by him. She couldn't quite forgive him for having sent the Robinsons away and she couldn't see the point in his visit as of yet. Hugh just nodded.

“So you will be aware that the case is currently on shaky grounds. There will be a hearing tomorrow afternoon. I will be frank with you, Constable, Mrs. Collins, if we do not convince the judge and dare I say it, the public, of her guilt in Detective-Inspector Robinson's capture and almost demise, we are holding bad cards.”

“She will be released?” Dot exclaimed in horror, before she could stop herself. The Commissioner, who had been staring at a thoughtful Hugh, turned.

“I rather hope we will be able to prevent that, Mrs. Collins, but I will need your help.”

Both spouses listened in silence, while Sanderson explained what he expected from them.

 

X

 

When Jack finally released Phryne's wrists, she collapsed into his arms in a sweaty, but satisfied mess. The Inspector held her tightly, while her breath slowed down.

“Jack?” she whispered into his neck.

He stroked her hair in response, retreating to look at her.

“I believe it is time to retrieve the pudding from the oven or we will have to starve after all.”

Jack looked confused for a moment. Truth be told, he had completely forgotten the reason they had been in the kitchen to start with. But there was a delicious smell hanging in the air that caused his mouth to water. Gently, he helped Phryne onto her shaky legs, before attending to dinner. When he, cursing, set the burning hot form onto the table, before turning away to sneeze, his wife stood in the middle of the kitchen with two spoons in her hand.

“I fear, we ran out of plates, Jack,” she smirked. “There is only one left. But then, I don't mind sharing.”

He couldn't help but grin. Minutes later, they were lying wrapped up in bed, a warm plate of comfortably hot bread pudding between them which tasted even better than it had smelled. Jack could feel his limbs sink into the cheap mattress. It had been a long day and he was exhausted and now cold and shaky instead of glowing hot. He failed to notice that Phryne was watching him with a frown.

“You're not getting worse again, are you?” she asked.

“I am fine,” he fibbed, pulling the blanket higher.

“You are and always will be a terrible liar,” she said calmly, stretching out a hand to feel his forehead. He snatched up her fingers and pressed a kiss to them, before she could get there.

“So I am. But I also will live through this cold,” he assured her, digging his spoon into the warm mess of bread.

“I would hope so,” she grumbled, but gave up. The truth was that Phryne herself felt rather shaky and she wasn't certain if this were was only the aftershocks of their adventure on the kitchen counter. Her raw throat could of course be only the result an abundance of screaming and groaning, but then it was much more likely, that it was to do with the ice cold bath she had taken in the Yarra.

She thought of Natalija. But before she could open her mouth to inform Jack of her plans to talk to Mac about her, he broke the silence with a thought of his own.

“As much as I enjoy our little adventures in Collingwood, Phryne, we need to make some headway in finding this grog-business. I want you out of here, before you lose your mind.”

His words were so sudden and bold that she was stunned for a moment. Quiet anger bubbled in her stomach. One little meltdown and he thought her incapable of taking care of herself. Phryne looked up, ready to draw her line in the sand, but the nasty words died on her tongue. Jack's eyes were dark in the sparse light of the gas lamp, watching her, waiting for her reaction. There was so much love written through them that her annoyance evaporated. Jack was done pretending that he couldn't see her pain - It was as simple as that. She reached out her hand, curling her cool finger over his forehead. This time, he didn't stop her.

“You're burning up,” she said more calmly than she felt.

Jack bedded his head on the cool pillow, before answering.

“I don't think it's anything to worry about, but I do feel like I've been through the wringer,” he admitted.

Phryne turned, rumbling around in her night stand for a moment, then shoved something in Jack's mouth without a warning. He frowned, pulling the thermometer from between his teeth.

“Wherever have you stolen that from, Miss Fisher?”

His wife smiled mischievously.

“I might have loaned it from Mac, while she was here.”

“I'm sure, her patients will appreciate your efforts.”

“She is working in a hospital, I'm quite certain they can obtain another one. Now be a good patient, Jack.”

The Inspector rolled his eyes, but allowed her slim fingers to put the instrument back into his mouth. After a while she retreated it, inspecting it sceptically in the dim light.

“38...” she quinted, “...5. You _are_ running a fever!” 

It almost sounded like an accusation. The Inspector's effort to answer was cut short by an inconvenient coughing attack.

Phryne watched him, frowning, then settled the empty plate on her night stand and turned off the lamp, before she lay down on her own side.

“Maybe we should just call it quits,” she said after a long moment of listening to him gasping for breath.

“Since when are you so easily defeated, Miss Fisher?” her husband's rough voice asked into the darkness.

“Jack, you are sick and I currently burst into tears at the sight of a soup pot.” An embarrassed smile accompanied this statement. “That is hardly what I would call a hasty surrender.”

The Inspector thought about this for a moment, watching her settle into her pillow.   
“But then we had barely time of yet to investigate into Gabler's. It does seem a promising lead,” he pointed out.

Phryne sighed.

“I hate to admit that you aren't wrong, Inspector.”

“Those words from your mouth, Phryne?”

She rolled her eyes in mock-annoyance.

“It would be a shame to abandon our assignment at this stage. But I yearn for a hot bath and my wardrobe and for Jane and Dot and... I miss them, Jack.”

It wasn't what she had meant to say, but the truth seemed to suddenly have no intention to be kept in her mouth any longer. Hot fingers twisted through her hair, gently curled through her locks.

“I miss every single one of them. Even you, Jack, I miss you.”

A thumb was stroking her cheek. Phryne realised that she was crying – again! She wanted to apologize, for being weak and for insulting him. But somehow, through nothing short of a miracle, he understood her meaning. Neither of them had really been themselves, since they had arrived here. They had tried their hardest, but somehow the desperation of Mr. and Mrs. Jack Turner had overtaken them all the same. Maybe it was the acting or the the place or all the shadows lurking wherever the moonlight couldn't reach, but somehow they had forgotten how to be happy.

As if drawn in by an invisible force, the spouses moved closer to each other, wrapping their bodies together under the warm covers, until it was hard to tell which limb belonged to whom. Phryne buried her face in Jack's neck, giving up on being ashamed of her tears.

After some time, a salty drop fell onto her forehead. She didn't say a word, just crawled deeper into his embrace. Jack felt like an idiot while hot tears burned in his eyes. He had tried with all his strength to push on and protect her from the despair in his heart and all he had achieved was to build a wall between them.

“I miss my chess matches with Jane,” he whispered. He could feel her smile against the tender skin of his neck and took it as an encouragement. “This mattress is giving me back pain. And I am furious and scared out of my mind in equal amounts at the prospect of Elaine Browning walking. I fear that if I ever met her on the street, I might pull the trigger, before my head catches up.”

There was silvery silence for a long moment, with the moon dipping the wrapped together bodies into its pale light. Stifling a cough over his wife's head, Jack wondered if he had said too much. But her arms seemed to wrap even tighter around his back. He shivered in her embrace.

“I can't stop thinking that my parents blamed me for Janey's disappearance,” Phryne said quietly, her voice rough with emotion. “That my father always knew that I was a terrible child and his behaviour was my punishment.”

Jack felt his heart stop. He was aching to talk this nonsense away, but it was not the time, he sensed. This was just baring their souls; there was no room for comforting words. So he silently stroked her hair and felt her cool tears tickle on their way down his neck, before they sank into the pillow.

“I despise porridge,” he stated calmly, after a pause. Her laughter tickled and lifted a weight from both their hearts.

“How do you think about us giving this until Tuesday?” Phryne proposed after they had lain for a while in comfortable silence. “If by then we haven't made any progress, Sanderson may find his Grog Baron himself. ” 

The reason why she had picked the day after tomorrow she didn't mention, but it wasn't necessary. They both knew that it was the day of Elaine Browning's execution. They then should be fine to return home, with or without success in their assignment. But of course, they were both too ambitious to just  give up a case as  lost and also, they wouldn't hand Sanderson the chance to destroy their partnership without a fight. 

“So, what is our plan,” Jack murmured sleepily.

“If you should, despite the odds, be in any state to do so, you could try and retrieve some information from your co-workers,” Phryne smiled. “I am quite certain, you will find any support from Eddie, you could need. He seems to have overcome any distrust.”

“Saving his sweetheart will do that,” Jack mumbled. But Phryne wasn't listening. She was plotting.

“And I will head up to Gabler's and convince them of my qualities.”

“Which ones would that be then, Phryne?”

His wife pretended to pout, an effort that was completely spoiled by the fact that he couldn't see her face in their current position.

“All of them, naturally, Jack. But mostly I will pretend to be in desperate need of a job, which should hopefully enable me to infiltrate the company.”

Jack's eyes snapped open.

“You intend to sneak through the factory? On your own?”

“Shhhs, Jack,” she made into his neck, more amused and flattered, than annoyed at his worry.

“Just some harmless sleuthing. Now go to sleep, we have plenty of work to do.”

“Nothing you do is ever harmless,” the Inspector grumbled. But really, he was too tired and comfortable to argue with her. Soon his breath evened out. Phryne lay awake for a long time, pondering and planning the next day. The moon looked on, smiling, when she finally, gently retreated from the embrace of her husband, who groaned in his sleep at the loss. She pressed a kiss to his hot forehead, before rolling over. Just a little fever and only two more days to go. They would be alright. The moon vanished behind a dark cloud, leaving her in darkness. Phryne closed her eyes and sent a little prayer to whoever might be listening. 'Dear God, please let us be alright.'

 


	23. Big Bang

“Drink, Jack. We will die together.”

“Phryne, don't do this!”

Laughter.

“She's not here, Jack.”

The woman turned. It wasn't Phryne. It was Elaine. He looked from the golden cup in his hands back at the woman with the dark hair. Behind her, Murdoch Foyle smiled. At his feet lay a body, a shotgun wound in it's flawless white back...

Jack started awake, a cough shaking him. After he had found his breath again and his heartrate had managed to slow down, he sorted through his aching limbs, trying to forget the nonsense he had dreamed. His nose was blocked rather than running, reminding him that he really needed to wash some handkerchiefs. The ones he had soaked yesterday morning still waited in the washhouse for his attention. His throat was raw, hurting on every swallow, his hammering head seemed to glow. All in all, he had a suspicion that Phryne might put in a veto about his plan to go to work. Just when he started to wonder where exactly his wife was, she entered, a tray in her hands.

“I'm afraid, it is porridge today, Jack. It's a little too early for a bakery to open.”

Her husband inspected his watch in the semi-darkness of dawn.

“It's barely half past six,” he yawned, glancing at her attire. “And yet you seem to be fully dressed.”

She set down the tray and picked up the thermometer to shake it down.

“Well spotted, Inspector.”

Obediently Jack opened his mouth, feeling like a child. He had nurtured the hope that he could fib his way through this and hide the worst from her, but something in his heart told him that hiding was over. Of course, he could put his foot down and insist that he was capable and willing to do his part in the investigation. In fact, he felt guilty at the realisation that all he really wanted to do was cuddle back into bed and pull her down with him. While he was still pondering this, she retrieved the thermometer from him and squinted at the result that would decide his day.

“May I say, Inspector, that you look absolutely disgusting,” she quipped, without satisfying his curiosity.

“Why, thank you,” Jack answered dryly, before bursting into yet another cough. “Without the capability of seeing myself I'd agree though with your charming conclusion,” he added on afterthought, once he could breath again.

He looked at her with stinging eyes, realising that she was worried. Hiding indeed was over, for both of them.

“There is in fact nothing I would like to do less than go follow my factory job today, Miss Fisher. Yet, I feel I should.”

He grasped for her hand and Jack found himself release a breath he had been holding, when she didn't retreat. Instead she curled her fingers around his and stroked his hot face with her free palm. Something about the motion reminded him of another scene, a long time ago. Her cool hands on his hot face. Jack swallowed hard, trying to shake off the memories. Phryne had been his salvation then and she would be now.

“I am well aware that you will argue it, Jack, but your overbearing sense of duty is misguided in this case,” she said, her face serious. Her husband nodded, feeling guilty for his lack of defiance.

“I believe you might be overestimating said sense of duty,” he admitted, dropping his gaze to the cooling porridge, without letting go of her hand. His stomach was turning at the mere sight of the brown glob.

“Glad to hear it,” she quipped, perking up.

“But I am also not comfortable with you going investigating on your own, Phryne,” he ground out, before another cough shut him up. His wife watched him with a frown.

“I am quite capable of taking care of myself, Jack,” she pointed out, slightly insulted. He didn't answer, as he was currently too busy wheezing. 

“In fact, I believe dragging you along yesterday might have been a rather silly idea of myself, considering we ended up in the Yarra.”

The Inspector finally found his breath again, realising that he was squeezing her hand so hard that he was likely to hurt her. Gently, he retreated. Phryne stared at their entwined fingers as he slipped away. She knew he would deflect her notion, but she couldn't help but battle with a sense of guilt.

“Taking into account that Miss Nowak might be currently in police custody or possibly dead, without our interference, I believe an extension of my cold might be a small price to pay,” the Inspector pointed out.

Mrs. Robinson smiled vaguely, swallowing the urge to curse at his dismissive logic.

“Talking about Natalija,” she said casually, slipping to her feet, “have you noticed the rather obvious spell she holds over Eddie?”

Jack grinned. Of course Phryne wouldn't miss a thing like that.

“Indeed I have, Miss Fisher. And I have been urging him to follow his heart.”

Surprised, Phryne turned, where she had been riffling through her belongings.

“To what effect?”

Jack sighed.

“None, as far as I can tell. He insists that he cannot provide for her and another child, which is hard to argue with.”

A thoughtful crease was stretching over the Inspector's forehead, and Phryne smiled a content smile. So he had been pondering along the same lines. She leaned against the cabinet.

“I believe, we ought to help them, Jack.”

Her husband, who had been wondering how to best phrase his wish to use money and connections that still didn't quite feel like his, to solve the dilemma of their friends, smiled.

“I was rather hoping you would think so.”

“Naturally, Jack. So, I've decided to talk to Mac. There must be a safer way to do this than a half-trained nurse butchering young women in her bathroom.”

Jack started.

“You are trying to arrange an abortion?” he asked, his voice hoarse, half with his cold, half with surprise. Truth be told, he had assumed that Phryne just like him, had interpreted Natalija's running as a clear sign that she was ultimately unhappy with this decision. Their conversation while sitting on a freezing ground, echoed in his ears. She had no choice, but what if there could be an alternative? He looked up to realise that his wife was staring at him with a confused smile.

“Of course. What other options are there? The father is unlikely to provide for the child and she can't feed it.”

“But there's Eddie,” the Inspector pointed out weakly.

“It's not his offspring, Jack. It would be rather unfair to expect him to bring up a child that was conceived by another man.”

Jack dropped his gaze. Maybe he was being absurd, but briefly he had given himself to the delusion of a happy ending for Natalija and her baby. Something occurred to him.

“That's a rather strange statement, considering our foster daughter,” he blurted out, before he could stop himself. Phryne's jaw set.

“But then, I can provide for Jane,” she said coldly. “And I didn't force you to marry me, Jack.”

The Inspector looked at her as if she had slapped him, but Phryne couldn't see him for the red haze of anger blurring her eyes.

“Jane is a living teenage girl, Jack. Hardly a comparison to a yet faceless fetus conceived in a misguided night with some imbecile.”

“So, it doesn't matter, because it hasn't got a name yet?” Jack asked, quivering in fury. “Or because his father is a fool?”

“No, it doesn't matter because it's not a human being yet. There is people starving here, Jack! Real, breathing children. There is a reason, Natalija would consider an abortion and you are being ignorant of those circumstances!”

Phryne's chest heaved, as a wave of anger buried her underneath it. Her husband wasn't far behind.

“So you just dismiss her beliefs and wishes?!”

“And what would _you_ know about the wishes of these people, Jack?!” 

Phryne gasped for air, while the Inspector was shaken by a coughing attack that rendered him unable to answer her question. She had gone too far, she could sense it. They both had.

“I have to leave,” she ground out. “I am running late.”

Jack didn't say a word. Phryne stood in the room, feeling lost, as the rage dripped away.

Finally, the Inspector shrugged.

“Go, I will see you tonight,” his rough voice said into the emptiness. It was completely unreadable, but he was staring at the blanket, as if it held all the answers. In awkward silence, Phryne donned her coat and hat. She didn't kiss him, it felt wrong at the current time, but she did press his hand briefly. His fingers squeezed back, which relieved her more than anything should have. So maybe they were beyond being breakable even by a nasty fight.

“Get some sleep,” she said, turning in the door.

“I will,” he nodded, watching her open her mouth as if she wanted to say something, then close it again and leave. The silence settling in was deafening. Jack shoved the cold porridge onto his nightstand, before lying down and pulling the blanket to his ears. Even though he felt tired down to his bones, sleep wouldn't come.

 

X

 

The sound of cups clattering in their saucers was giving her a headache. Dot stared grumpily into her teacup, while Jane and Mr. Butler chattered on and on about this  girl's dog, as if they had found the holy grail, rather than a flee eaten bitch. Dorothy realised with a start, how unfair that thought was and carefully patted her belly  in an effort to remind her baby that she wasn't that bad a person really. She just had slept terribl y and found that Hugh had left for work in the break of dawn, to figure out as much as possible in his case before the appointment in the afternoon. She knew that there wasn't much more to do. One of the women they had arrested, had confessed that Helen Kerby had died in their house, so there was really very little more to be accomplished. But he still needed to talk to the poor women who would be charged for aborting their children. Dorothy knew what Father Grogan would say. That these women had gone wrong in denying the Lord's gift to them and received their punishment. Yet, she couldn't help but feel sorry for them, all too vivid was her own brief experience with “Butcher George” burned into her memory. Dot also knew that Alice had had an abortion and never looked back. She was happily married by now and trying to conceive a child with Cec. Surely, the Lord couldn't have wanted her to be unhappy? Dot sighed, stirring thoughtfully in her cold tea. 

“We should have a celebration for them,” Jane exclaimed happily into their thoughts. Dorothy started, the dark feeling returning to her stomach that had haunted her all last night, since Sanderson had left their house.

“We aren't sure yet, if they will return straight after this hearing, Miss Jane. It might be advisable to wait for the verdict.”

Jane frowned. She didn't want her enthusiasm to be diminished by reason.

“But they might. They are only hiding until Mrs. Browning is executed after all, aren't they?”

Looking for help, she glanced at Dot, who was holding her stomach, fighting down a wave of nausea.

“Your parents are not hiding, Miss Jane, they are merely stay out of sight,” Mr. Butler corrected her smoothly. “And they also do have a case to solve, so they might not be in a state yet to return home.”

But Jane wasn't listening. She was scrutinising the ashen Dot.

“Are you alright?” she asked. “Do you need to lie down?”

The maid shook her head, trying a faint smile.

“I will be right in just a minute,” she lied. “Just the usual.”

There was silence, as Mr. Butler got up, starting to clear the dishes, while watching Mrs. Collins battle with herself.

“Why don't you go get some rest, Dorothy? I can take care of the household today. It really is not much, since the Mistress and Master aren't around and Miss Jane is needing to get ready for school in a hurry now,” he added, his eyebrows raised at his temporary ward. Jane seemed to snap back into her good mood in a flash and mock saluted.

“Aye, Governess Butler,” she grinned, scurrying away with a last look at Dot.

After a long moment of silence, Tobias sat back down, grasping Dorothy's hand.

“Now, would you like to tell me, what really is bothering you?”

She looked up into the pair of warm, understanding eyes and smiled vaguley.

“I can't help it, Mr. B. I have a terrible feeling.”

Tobias frowned and retreated. He was too honest a man to brush this off, but then, Dot was in the family way and maybe a little over sensitive.

“Miss Fisher and her Inspector have always been quite good at taking care of themselves,” he stated with more conviction than he felt. There was a knot in his own chest, that he couldn't quite explain.

“But something is wrong, I can sense it,” Dot argued. Mr. Butler nodded.

“I understand that feeling perfectly well, Dorothy. But it would be ill advised to get involved. We could endanger their mission and draw their anger on ourselves.”

Mrs. Collins hung her head. She had considered heading out to Collingwood, pressuring Bert and Cec to bring her to the house they had dropped off her Mistress and see if she was in need of any help. But Mr. Butler was right. It would not be appreciated, if her appearance should cause suspicion in the neighbours. And it was silly to worry. She had seen them only yesterday and they didn't appear to be in any trouble, other than fleeing a crime scene. Which, considering, seemed to be rather normal behaviour for Miss Fisher.

She looked up at the man opposite her, still watching her with faint lines across his forehead and nodded.

“You are right, Mr. Butler. We shouldn't do anything rash. Surely, they can look after themselves.”

“As they have proven in the past, Dorothy,” the servant smiled, continuing to clear the table, while gesturing her to remain where she was. Dot obediently sat and watched him in silence. He didn't believe it any more than she did, she was certain.

 

X

 

“You're late,” Nicholson grumbled, when Jack stepped on his work bench. Several pairs of eyes glanced up at him, before losing interest again.

“Yes, I am,” the Inspector said calmly.

“Slept in after your adventure, have you?” Cromms grinned from his left.

“Had to convince my wife that I'm coming in at all,” Jack lied. He truly hadn't convinced anyone, least of all himself, that this was a good idea. But sleep had turned out impossible with the massive lump of lead in his stomach and he had decided that he might as well get up and do something of sense.

“That would explain why she dropped by, asking me to excuse you,” Mike quipped from the other side. “Makes me look like a right imbecile now.”

“My apologies,” the Inspector gave back, “she is of a rather stubborn nature.”

“As all good women are,” Miller grinned toothlessly from the other side. A smile ghosted over Jim Ferren's face. So, the kid had probably found himself a stubborn sweetheart. That came as a bit of a surprise, Jack caught himself thinking, before he realised that that really wasn't any of his concern.

“Could we stop with the chattering now and return to work? Considerin' we're already runnin' behind, thanks to Mr. Undecided here,” a grumpy old voice sounded from the right. 

“Now, hold your horses,” Cromms said. “Our man here is a bit of a hero and no wonder, he's feelin' under the weather today. If you'd taken a bath in the Yarra, you'd think twice about coming to work too.” 

Jack kept his head down. This was not a conversation he was particularly keen on joining into. He had rather hoped the whole episode would have been forgotten by now. But of course it wasn't. Gossip was appreciated in this place.

“Hero, ey? What, did he drag out a drowning kitt'n?” Nicholson mumbled, his hands spinning over a piece of leather.

“Drowning girl, more like it,” Ferren said. “Little Nat Nowak fell into the river, I heard.”

Eddie, who had been completely silent during the whole exchange, met Jack's eyes. The men forged a silent pact. A secret for a secret.

“She did,” Cromms prompted. “And both Turner and Wenbrock threw themselves in right after her. Dragged the girl out coughing and spluttering.”

“Actually,” Jack said, after stifling a cough. “It was mostly my wife who threw herself in after her. Jumped off the bridge, the crazy woman.”

With a start he realised that his insides were filling up with the familiar feeling of overbearing pride at being married to said crazy woman. Jack fought back the urge to drop everything and go out to find her.

“Is that true?” he heard Mike ask and turned, startled. Jack had forgotten what the conversation had been about.

“Did your wife save Miss Nowak?”

“She did,” the Inspector said, grabbing for the next shoe. “Didn't think a moment.”

“Some woman,” Eddie Wenbrock mumbled to himself with a faint smile.

“So ya two were shown up by a woman then?” Wesley grinned, getting an elbow into his rib.

“You married, Miller?” Jack asked.

“Not that I know off,” the giant answered, without seeming willing to go into the subject any further.

“Didn't think so, or you would know that that is just the way it goes,” the Inspector quipped. There was laughter around the table. Most of the men were obviously married or had been at some stage.

“I think we should celebrate,” Carter said, when the laughter died down, making room for the sound of hard work. “How often do we get to cheer on two heroes at once? Pub after knock-off?”

Appreciative murmuring answered his proposal. Jack didn't point out that the heroine wouldn't jon them. The wheels in his head were turning.

While he hated the senseless drinking of the working classes piling into watering holes across the city, for the one hour between the end of their working day and the closing of the pubs, he also knew well enough that alcohol loosened tongues. And the subject would almost present itself, while they'd be sitting over their beer. This was the best chance to find out everything his co-workers knew about a Grog-Baron in Collingwood, granted he wasn't a fairytale.

And so, despite his throbbing head as well as his aching heart, reminding him that he really shouldn't, he agreed enthusiastically to go out after work. He missed the disapproving look on Eddie Wenbrock's face, while plotting how to best get his new friends drunk enough to spill the beans. While his feet slowly turned into blocks of ice, Inspector Robinson dreamed of a soft bed and a content Phryne sleeping on his chest. They would be home very, very soon.

 


	24. Quantum Mechanics

Mrs. Phryne Robinson felt sweat trickle down her neck. The stupid needle just wouldn't do as she wanted it to. Possibly pretending to be an experienced seamstress had been a tiny bit of an overstatement. But surely she wouldn't be defeated by a a petticoat in a ghastly shade of pink.

It had been too easy to convince the other women waiting in the icy morning for a stab at this job to go home with a few pounds in their pockets. Very easy, but admittedly not overly subtle.

She'd better figure out what Gabler's was hiding before the blunt breech of her role as Mrs. Turner made the rounds and blew their cover once and for all. If her inability at stitching didn't do the trick.

Angrily Phryne sucked on her finger.

“Don't get blood on the fabric,” a female voice advised her. “They'll take it out of yer wages, if ya do.” 

“Thank you for the kind hint,” Phryne quipped.

“The first day is always bad,” the woman informed her, unasked for. “It gets easier.”

Phryne tried to imitate the tiny stitches she knew from Dot's handy work , without answering. She knew  that  the elder lady with the wrinkly fingers meant well. But she had heard the same words too often. It would get easier. But would it?  Jack 's factory job was for sure partly responsible for him lying in bed with a fever.  But  at least he had finally given up defying her attempts to keep him there. 

While Phryne still felt relief about him being wrapped up in bed, his complete lack of reason in their argument lay like a glowing ball of lead in her stomach. How could he be so utterly blind to Natalija's circumstances?

'Not blind, dreaming, ' a tiny voice in Phryne's head pointed out. 

Chewing on her lip,  the Detective threaded the prickly metal through pink fabric  and the lable she was attempting to attach. When a usually boldly realistic man like Jack Robinson dreamed of a better world, it was pretty hard to hold on to anger, she found with some annoyance. Even more irritating was the urge  she felt  to rush home and crawl under the covers with him; hold him  until he'd forget every harsh word that had slipped over her lips this morning. 

Phryne huffed and kept stitching. There was little less productive than apologies. She needed to focus on the job at hand and with any luck she could hand Sanderson his Grog Baron's head on a silver platter and bring Jack safely home to his own bed and Mac's professional hands by tomorrow.

Sudden silence surrounding her, tore her from her thoughts. When she looked up, three well dressed men were walking down the isle between the working tables. Phryne stared after them, her heart beating in her throat. They looked normal enough, but the way the other seamstresses appeared suddenly very busy with their work, told her all she needed to know.

“Keep your head down,” the woman beside her whispered, all friendly chatter gone.

Phryne had not the slightest intention to do as she was told. The three men vanished through a door in the back without taking any notice of curious seamstresses.

“Who are they then?” Mrs. Robinson asked when the door had closed.

“You'd do better in not asking,” a younger woman, sitting to the right of her answered, her blonde hair falling deep into her face.

“Why not? The young one is rather dashing,” Phryne smiled, while returning to her work.

“They say, he's killed people,” a young girl, probably hardly 16, whispered. She clapped a hand in front of her mouth the same moment, as if saying it would turn her into the next target of those dangerous criminal who were stomping through factory halls in the middle of the day. Phryne couldn't help but grin to herself. The young, dark haired man was in fact rather handsome and also about as dangerous looking as a fly on the wall. The other two were much older and much more serious. Thoughtfully she stared at the closed door, wondering where exactly it lead.

“Don't even think about it,” the elderly woman beside her said, glancing up at her with a faint smile. “I can tell yer curious, but the only way to make money here is by keepin' yer head down and yer eyes closed. Understand?”

Phryne nodded. She understood all too well. Sadly, she really wasn't the kind of woman who won the battle against her curiosity often.

 

X

 

It was the smell. The smell always got to him. He imagined it was the stench of death and illness, but probably it was just urine and blood. Hugh wrapped his arm tighter around his helmet and marched on. The door wasn't answered straight away. He had to knock twice before a tired voice called him in. Elisabeth MacMillan sat behind her desk, stifling a yawn.

“Ahh, Constable.”

That seemed all the response he was going to get, as she returned to her paperwork without taking any more notice of the policeman. Hugh slowly edged into her office. After a long moment of rustling paperwork, he cleared his throat.

“I would like to speak to the women, Doctor.”

Mac looked up as if she saw him the first time.

“Oh, that's why you're here? I'm afraid, that won't be possible.”

Hugh was starting to get angry. He liked Phryne's friend, but he wouldn't be ignored!

“Doctor MacMillan, I demand to speak to the witnesses in my murder investigation. Right now!”

Mac rose, crossing her arms over her chest. For the first time, Collins realised that her eyes were bright red. She obviously hadn't slept at all in the gone night.

“As I said, that won't be possible.”

Hugh nodded slowly.

“Would you like to inform me of the reasons for this?” he asked levelly.

“I doubt I will get you out of my office without,” Mac grumbled. “Mrs. Binch's condition has worsened over night. We had to operate.”

Hugh deflated, dropping onto a chair.

“Is she...?”

“You might have to charge the people responsible for two murders, Constable. But at this stage nobody can tell. Now, please excuse me-”

“What about the other four?” Collins asked, just when she reached the door.

“The other four already spoke to the other Constable the Station sent over this morning. Or didn't speak to him rather.”

Hugh gaped at her, his mouth open.

“Who?”

The Doctor shrugged.

“A young kid, red hair.”

Collins felt his hands ball into fists.

“Dahle? Who on earth would send him to talk to anyone?!”

A bemused look ghosted over Mac's tired face.

“He certainly wouldn't have been my choice, Constable. But I do fear that the girl's opinion of the police force has not improved due to their interrogation by this imbecile.” 

“We shall see about that, won't we?” Hugh ground out, stomping out the door, past the Doctor, who was trying not to laugh. There was really very little more funny than an annoyed Hugh Collins. In silence she lead him to a room down the hall. She stopped, when something on the floor caught her eye. The Constable marched on, knocking briefly and loudly at the simple wooden door. When he pushed it open, however, silence greeted him. He stared at the empty beds for a long moment, then turned to a pale Mac. 

“Is this a mistake?” he asked, looking at the doctor, who was holding something in her hands that looked like a faded red scarf.

“I'm afraid it isn't, Hugh. Your witnesses appear to have done a disappearance act.” 

To his surprise, Mac actually looked sorry.

 

X

 

 

Jack's cough had returned with full force by the time the men were released for lunch. Huddling around the tea pots, the workers attempted to get some warmth into their frozen bodies. The Inspector stood somewhat aside, burning his hands on the glowing cup wrapped in his fingers. He was shivering in the cold, but this was no time for regrets or worry. Tonight he would find out everything he needed to know, he promised himself and then he would never come back here again. A violent coughing attack made sure to remind him that he was being completely unreasonable. Phryne was likely to be more than vexed due to his disobedience. The thought was strangely enticing.

While his love hadn't taken the slightest crack, Jack hadn't managed to forget his annoyance with his wife. How could she care so little about Natalija's fate, he wondered? Surely, she couldn't truly believe that it was best for the world, if this innocent child wasn't born, could she?

Jack was attempting to be reasonable. Of course, the tiny cottage Natalija lived in with her father wasn 't a place to raise a child. But that could be changed. And there was Eddie...

As much as he twisted it, the Inspector couldn't help that he wasn't feeling reasonable at all. He couldn't shake the thought of Jane. What if her mother had decided to not have her - that it was too hard? He held his breath as the dull pain spread  through his chest. Carefully he dragged cold air into his lungs, trying to be  sensible . Jane was home, safe and sound with Mr. Butler and Mrs. Collins. It wasn 't her life at stake here. Just a faceless child. But a child nevertheless. 

Absorbed in his thoughts, Jack took a sip of his tea when things suddenly became crystal clear. He had gotten it wrong! For Phryne to even consider dragging her best friend into an illegal procedure, she would have to care deeply. He swallowed the hot liquid so fast that he burst into another cough, as the tea burned his throat. Dear God, he had gotten it all wrong. A hand fell heavily onto his shoulder, startling him so badly, that he spilled hot liquid over his fingers.

“Turner?”

Cursing, the Inspector turned to look at Eddie Wenbrock.

“You alright?” his friend asked, noticing the accident he had caused.

“Just fine,” Jack grumbled, wiping his fingers onto his pants. “You scared me. What's up?”

Edward threw a look at the rest of the men, busying themselves with conversations or their sandwiches.

“Are ya certain that it is a good idea? Ya goin' to the pub tonight and all?” he finally asked quietly.

“No offence, but ya look like ya've been chewed up and spat out.”

Jack cleared his throat.

“Thank you for your concern,” he finally stated. “But I don't think, it is necessar-”

He didn't get to finish as another violent cough took away his voice, forcing him to set down his cup in order to not drench himself in warm beverage.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Eddie stated grimly. “Mate, why don't ya go home and listen to yer wife, before ya catch yerself death?”

“It will be fine,” Jack gasped, with some effort dragging air into his stinging lungs. Eddie was frowning when the Inspector finally managed to look up.

“I wasn't gonna go there,” he whispered, “but yer too stubborn to let it rest. Ya shouldn't...”

He didn't get any further.

“So ya two are comin' tonight, aren't ya?” a happy Oliver Cromms interrupted them.

Eddie glanced at Jack, who nodded.

“I'm sorry, Cromms, but I have to take care of my family,” he said, to the Inspector's surprise.

“Spoilsport,” Oliver quipped. “What bout you then, Turner?”

“No ten horses could stop me,” Jack said dryly, picking up his cup. Cromms laughed inappropriately loud. The sound drew more curious men over. Eddie had no choice but to swallow down what he had wanted to say, battling with himself, as he watched the sickly Jack sip his tea and chatter along with the other workers. He didn't like this, didn't like it at all.

 

X

 

Phryne's tried to ignore her growling stomach. It was lunch time, yet there was no lunch to be had. She hadn't had a chance to pack any food other than porridge. Currently she wished she had taken that. Pushing her way through the crowd to the busy tea lady, she asked for milk and two pieces of sugar, which were granted, if with a raised eyebrow. Her cup in hand the Lady Detective retreated to a quiet corner, watching the secretive door in the back of the hall. The men hadn't reappeared as of yet.

“Would you like to share mine?” a friendly voice asked beside her. Phryne started. The blonde from earlier was holding out half a sandwich.

“Thank you,” Phryne smiled, feeling immensely grateful for two half-slices of dry bread with cheese wedged between. After they had chewed a few mouthfuls in silence, she asked conversationally: “So, tell me, who are those men?” 

The girl, who had introduced herself as Arabelle or Anabelle earlier, Phryne wasn't quite certain anymore, swallowed, then shrugged.

“They come here several times a week. The word is that they are the true owners of the factory. Old Gabler hasn't been seen by anyone for months.”

“What are they doing here?” Phryne asked, her mouth full.

“Well, they're certainly not interested in table clothes and trousers,” the girl laughed, then stopped when she realised that her voice had drawn some attention. “Their supposedly just offices back there, but nobody really knows. We are forbidden to even knock at the door. Rosa MacAllen tried to look through one of the windows once and was laid off the next day. She has 9 children at home and a man without a job. They said, she's stolen some money, but I know for a fact that she'd tried to look.”

“Did she see anything?” Phryne asked, holding her breath. To her disappointment the girl shrugged.

“Just some boxes and men, nothing worth writing home about.”

The Lady Detective's head was working feverishly. So, Gabler's was definitely the backdrop for something illegal and with any luck it was just what Sanderson was looking for. But she still needed to get in there and find proof. Briefly she thought of Jack but dismissed the though of bringing him along. Dragging his fever ridden, coughing body out of bed to help her investigate was a silly idea. Not only because it would make it harder to hide. She would do this on her own.

“Mind you, the young man is quite nice,” she heard and turned to find Arabelle's eyes glazed over. “He had a chat with me once. Wonderful manners, I must say and he asked how we were doing here.”

“He didn't happen to mention a name?” Mrs. Robinson asked gently.

“Not to me. One of the other men once called him Jacob. I think that's a rather pretty name, don't you?”

Phryne mumbled a non-committal agreement, deciding to withdraw. Women with a wild crush on criminal subjects weren't the kind of company she was trying to keep. Just then the heavy steel door, leading into the back, opened again and the three men in company of a fourth, exited.

'Jacob' was currently laughing, looking particularly unthreatening as he easily chattered along with one of the others. Phryne hadn't taken much notice of his conversation partner before. He was rather short, with dark hair and olive skin. His eyes slipped briefly over the room of women who had fallen silent once again, before he flashed a small smile in the direction of Phryne and Anabelle, who blushed furiously. The third stranger was already starting to grey and might have shared a slight resemblance with the second, possibly brothers or cousins. Number four wasn't really what Mrs. Robinson would have called handsome and also familiar. Joe Benett was a rough man, not overly friendly and known to be leading this factory with an iron hand. Getting yourself on his bad side, so had Adelheid explained, meant instant dismissal. He didn't see his factory workers as much more than flies on the walls.

Phryne imagined she could see it in his eyes, as he squinted at her questioningly before turning to lock the door behind himself, as if he had just remembered that he couldn't trust the women working here. She bit her lip in annoyance. The Lady Detective had rather hoped to be able to slip through the door while the men were distracted. Then a smile lit up her face as she marched right back towards the tea lady. It took some persuasion to convince the older lady to give her a refill, while there were enigmatic men to worry about. But finally Phryne was holding another steaming cup in her hands. It was high time, as the men had already made their way down the hall, having reached the middle of the factory hall. Rushing was not on option, but Phryne had been long enough the Honourable Miss Fisher to divide the sea of workers for herself without so much as lifting a hand.

Nevertheless, she was running out of time. Almost at the door, the olive man came to her rescue. Turning abruptly, he almost caused her to run into him. Phryne made a complicated sidestep backwards, flinging the contents of her cup with an artful gesture over the trousers of Mr. Benett. A string of cursing poured over her as the hot tea found it's way through the expensive fabric.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” she exclaimed for everybody to hear, dropping to her knees and ripping the hastily produced handkerchief from her employer's hands in an attempt to pat him dry. The man's face had turned bright red, chatter picked up around them with the occasional giggle thrown in. Mrs. Robinson barely bit back a telling grin. A man was just a man and a beautiful woman fiddling on this particular speciman's trousers had exactly the effect she'd anticipated. 

“That's enough,” Mr. Benett finally exclaimed, all but yanking her back to her feet. “Thank you, Mrs....”

“Turner,” Phryne quipped.

“We will talk about this later!”

With a huff he followed the other men, who looked suspiciously amused. Phryne slipped a hand into her pocket and wrapped her fingers around cool metal before, with a satisfied smirk, returning to her work.


	25. Mercury

The door slammed shut behind him with a satisfying bang. The glass had barely had time to cease shaking in it's frame, when Inspector Morgan stuck his head through the gap.

“Since you are audibly back, Constable, would you mind bringing Mrs. Campbell to the interview room?” he asked softly.

Hugh didn't turn. He could barely manage to keep himself from kicking the desk. There had been a short, painful attempt to talk to Mrs. Binch. She hadn't spoken a word. It was hard to say if due to the fever shaking her or simply because she would never speak. The woman would rather die than admit to an abortion, it seemed. And the ones that might have talked, were gone.

“Certainly,” he pressed out.

“Thank you, Constable.”

The voice was too happy, too calm. Collin's shoulders shook in anger.

“Sir!?” he called out, when he heard the door click shut. It opened again and Hugh looked for what seemed the first time, properly at his superior officer. Morgan's face was just like his voice, boring, mousy. But there was a certain glitter in his eyes that the Constable had never noticed before.

“Is anything the matter, Collins?” he asked innocently, in his usual singsong.

“Please don't believe me to question your decisions, Sir, but why did you send Dahle to the hospital?”

There was a almost invisible quirk in Morgan's eyebrow before his face fell back into it's usual stance of careful boredom.

“Why wouldn't I? He is an Constable involved in the case, just as yourself.”

Hugh's hands balled into fists as he repressed the urge to shake his superior officer, a slip-up that certainly wouldn't help advance his career.

“Of course, Sir. But... Constable Dahle has intimidated the witnesses it seems. They have fled the hospital.”

Morgan nodded grimly. A careful observer might have noticed that the corners of his mouth were twitching.

“Has he now? That is very unfortunate for us, very unfortunate. How lucky that Mrs. Gillam has already signed a confession and we will be able to prosecute both her and her sister-in-law.”

Hugh stood gobsmacked for a long moment, while the Inspector headed for the door.

“Sir?” he asked. The smile on Morgan's features as he turned on his heels, was unmistakable.

“Yes, Constable?”

“Why didn't you order me to go to the hospital? I was here first thing in the morning. They might have talked to me!”

The Inspector's smile widened.

“And that is the very reason, I didn't send you, Collins.”

The Constable stood silently in the middle of Jack Robinson's office, while Morgan's steps disappeared together with the mousy face down the hall . Then he took the bunch of  keys off the hook and made his way down to Nurse Campbell's cell. 

 

X

 

 

When Dot, wearing her best dress, approached the school gates, she was deep in thought. To her surprise she found Jane chatting to a young woman, a cheeky dog hopping around them while alternatively trying to lick both girls's hands. Jane giggled when it's rough tongue once again flicked over her palm. 

“Lucy!” Marion laughed, pulling on the leash. Neither form of scolding seemed to worry the bitch much. Dorothy couldn't help but smile. She had a faint idea who the two visitors were. But before she could think deeper into this, she had been spotted.

“Dot!” Jane called, waving her over.

“This is Marion DeWitt, you remember. The client?”

“Of course,” Dot smiled, shaking hands with the young woman who suddenly looked rather embarrassed.

“I had better get on my way home,” Miss Dewitt stated, “I really just wanted to show you that she is happy to be back.”

As if to prove that, the dog attacked Dot's hand with her tongue. The maid withdrew just in time to not get bathed in saliva.

“And we had better be going too, Jane,” she pointed out carefully. After a brief goodbye, a slighty flustered Marion dragged the excited Lucy down the footpath while Dot wrapped an arm around Jane, steering her in the other direction.

“If you intend to keep on sleuthing you might want to work on your discretion,” she grinned. “Miss DeWitt seemed a little uneasy with you sharing her case around.”

Jane thought about this for a long moment.

“Surely, there is nothing embarrassing about missing your dog?” she finally stated carefully.

“It is not up for us to decide what people should be embarrassed about,” Dot argued. “Even though it is rather silly,” she added, beaming.

Jane only grinned.

They walked for a while in silence, until a car stopped beside them.

“You took your time,” Dot scolded, but Bert only grumbled something unaudible, tipping his hat and the girls climbed into the cab without further greeting. Grey streets flew past as they made their way towards the city. Nobody spoke. Even Cec seemed not in the mood for friendly chattering. Finally the motorcar stopped in front of an impressive grey building.

“Are you coming along?” Jane asked, but Cec just shook his head.

“Nah, mate, things to do. We haven't got time for this nonsense,” Bert grumbled. Neither of the women protested, even though they knew that the Cabbies were never too busy to do attend anything they wanted to attend. Which left only the conclusion that the comrades were worried. Bravely, Jane climbed up the stone steps that lead to the massive entrance of the courthouse, then stopped. A warm hand slipped into hers, wrapping gently around her fingers.

“It will be alright.”

“Of course.”

Jane's smile was as glued on as Dorothy's confidence was, but they stepped through the door and dug further into the maze of corridors and stone, passing important looking people, until they finally reached the door to the court room where Elaine Browning's fate would be decided upon. They were early, there were all of three people littered through the dark wooden chairs. Dot wanted to slip into the last row but found that a strong hand was pulling her right to the front. She could feel Jane shiver with nerves, when she managed to draw her attention from her own revolting stomach. 

Pictures were back, pictures of a ruined shirt that she had nevertheless scrubbed with bare hands until the water had turned a dirty red shade with the Inspector 's blood. Anything to not think about him not pulling through the night. To not worry about her Mistress's heart cracking into a million pieces. As long as she had things to do, there had been no time for this nonsense. 

Dot wanted to run, join Cec and Bert on their trips if she'd have to. But a strong, shaking hand held onto hers, dragging her onto a seat where she waited for Hugh and the Robinsons and destiny.

 

X

 

 

Phryne decided that she couldn't wait any longer. As she'd anticipated, Benett and his three companions hadn't returned from their outing and Mrs. Robinson harboured the hope that they might have ended up in a pub somewhere. She vividly remembered the stories Adelheid had shared, between giggling fits, about him stumbling drunk through his factory, once relieving himself into a carton filled with a fine fabrics. The workers having to wash up the mess had been a lot less amused than Phryne's neighbours, she was quite certain.

Right now, however, she appreciated his like for booze. But nevertheless she knew that with any minute she let slip by the risk that the missing key would be discovered, rose. She might have tried sooner, but Arabelle seemed in the mood to chat now and hadn't let up for a minute in the last two hours. Truthfully, Phryne was more concerned about the reticent elderly woman to her left, who had withdrawn into a thick, grumpy silence. Her warning words echoed in the Detective's ears. She probably knew more than she let on, but Mrs. Robinson didn't dare asking.

She would just have a little look into the 'offices'. There might be paperwork or stored goods to be found that would serve as prove, once and for all, that Gabler's was involved in the the sly-grog trade around here. Enough to satisfy Sanderson.

Phryne hadn't lied to her husband about not being particularly interested in illegal grog. To a woman who enjoyed her drinks, the Temperance Union appeared a laughable organisation. Stiff-lipped puritans, attempting to restrict other  people's freedom in an infuriatingly righteous manner.  And t hey were responsible for more crime and chaos than alcohol by itself could have managed. 

Had there not been those unfortunate cases of young men underestimating the potency of their drink and the fact that Phryne truly didn't want to give up her partnership with Jack, she had dismissed Sanderson's approach at ridding “his city” of this particular crime.

But, as things stood, she was trapped in the expectation of solving the case and she had every intention to succeed as swiftly as circumstance would allow her.  Truthfully, she was simply burning to leave Collingwood behind before it could do any irreparable damage. 

Her argument with Jack in the morning had been an admonition to not venture any further into the darkness if they were to remain married. After pondering their quarrel for hours while her needle had danced over variously shaded undergarments, Phryne's mixed feeling had settled for deep regret. So, they disagreed about Natalia's future, yet, what was it to her? Or Jack, for that matter? Surely it wasn't worth losing him over a girl they both hardly knew? But if she was honest, the root of the fight had been another one. She could still feel the liberating rush of hurling every cruel thought on her mind at him. 

It scared Phryne that she was capable of such brutality, yet, the feeling was familiar. With the same notion she had continued to throw herself into a variety of dalliances right in front of his eyes, long after she had been aware of the effects. She wasn't quite certain anymore what had caused her instinctive cruelty, but she suspected that it had been a mixture of trying to shake off her own restricting feelings and an attempt to prove to Jack how much his reluctance hurt both of them if it continued. Possibly she had even hoped to force some sort of reaction from him.

Miss Fisher chewed on her lip as she recalled his face falling in those moments, remembered the pain she had felt and the satisfaction. She didn't like to delve into the thoughts too deeply. There were memories that she didn't embrace all that much and her own cowardice was certainly one of them.

Now she feared that she was returning there. She was hurting Jack in a futile attempt to struggle out of this suffocating feeling of self-pity and helplessness. And it wasn't working.

Phryne resurfaced from the dark sea of her thoughts and realised that the sun on the horizon had turned into the a big, pink grapefruit hanging outside the steel framed windows. She needed to act and soon, if she was to stop their destructive little dance. Surely Jack wouldn't leave for one single slip of her tongue - but he was right. She needed to get out of Collingwood before she lost her mind. Phryne drew stuffy air into her lungs, darting her eyes over the busy factory hall. It must have been less than an hour until knock-off time, but she couldn't wait around for the forewomen to reappear. Or worse, Bennett. In the corner she spotted a quiet, hasty argument between two workers. One of them left her machine, nudging the other one in the side with her elbow in something that could have looked like an accident to someone who was not a detective. A thought sparked in Phryne's head.

“Where do I find more labels?” she interrupted the steady flow of words coming out of her neighbour's mouth. She had not the slightest idea what Arabelle had talked about over the last half hour, but her lack of response didn't seem to deter the young woman in the slightest.

“Over there in the corner.” the old lady said instead of the girl, her wrinkly finger pointing vaguely into a direction without her looking up. Phryne nodded, taking another deep breath. It was the right end of the room. Hurrying across, she reached the angry woman she had watched. At first she had a hard time getting her to listen, the smouldering conflict was getting the better of her. But a quick flick of some banknotes overcame the first reluctance. The girl glanced over her shoulder.

“I'll lose my job,” she protested weakly. Phryne pulled her deeper into the dusty corner and pressed the bundle into her hands.

“That should see you over for at least two months,” she whispered. “And if not, there is my card between those. You come see me and we'll figure something out. But I am in need of your help.”

A pair of big, grey eyes stared at her quizzically.

“So, that's all?”

“That's all.”

The young woman shoved the notes into her skirt pocket and stalked off. Phryne couldn't help a simper as she grabbed a box and wandered back towards her working bench, where the garments were piling up. Her sewing was not quite as fast as she had hoped, but then her talents lay in different fields. She set the box down on the last one, careful to cover up the remainder of labels and waited. For a few minutes, nothing happened. Then all hell broke lose.

 

X

 

“Miss Walters, would you deny the accusation that you are well acquainted with Detective Inspector Robinson?”

The young redhead gulped. Whispers spread through the room like wildfire.

“I do not consider this an accusation, Sir,” she said stiffly. “The Inspector has ki-”

“A simple 'yes' or 'no' will be completely satisfactory, Miss.”

“No,” Amber said, staring daggers at the grey suited solicitor.

The young medicine student had long since gotten over her involvement in the kidnapping of Jack Robinson. That was not only due to the fact that Miss Fisher had convinced the police to set the former maid of the Browning household free in exchange for her having kept Jack alive during his time in imprisonment and the promise to witness in the trial. Over time a strange, fragile sort of friendship had grown between accessory and victim and Amber cherished the loyalty of someone whose kindness she wasn't sure, she deserved. Right now she felt she needed to make certain that he received justice.

A grey back was turned to her, obviously satisfied.

“I might add though that this acquaintance was forged during his kidnapping and did not evolve until long after his recovery!”

The solicitor, who had just reached his table, spun, obviously not happy. But the words had been clear and loud, to be heard to the last row of the large court room. There was a smile playing around the lips of Judge Banks, too weak to notice for anyone who wasn't carefully watching him.

“So you deny that you lied for your friend Detective Inspector Robinson in an attempt to forge his capture?” the man asked coldly. Amber didn't answer for a long moment, as a grin spread over her features.

“I deny that very much!”

“So, it is not true that you joined the household of Mrs. Browning merely to take revenge for the death of your brother?”

The grin faded, the pretty redhead turning even paler than usual. Her eyes swept over the courtroom. There was no help to be had.

“Yes or no, Miss Walters?” Boyd urged. Amber rose her chin in defiance.

“It is true. Mr. Browning has murdered my brother.”

The whispering grew in volume while Sanderson extended a look with the Judge. He had been sitting in many trials led by his old acquaintance. This wasn't going well. George inspected his watch, then glanced past Dot and Jane who were holding nervously onto each other's hands, before his eyes wandered to the door. Where was Jack, where Miss Fisher? Something had gone wrong! The Chief Commissioner rose to his feet, hoping to reach a phone, when the door flew open. Out of the bright light into the darker room stepped a man, holding a helmet pressed to his black uniform.

 

 


	26. Wormhole

The door clicked shut behind her, causing the noise to fade into the background. Phryne breathed deeply, flattening herself against the wall. The fight that had broken out after the girl had thrown a half done piece of underwear at her opponents head, had risen above expectations. There must have been quite some hostility lingering in that room, to cause such an eruption of tempers. But it had given the detective enough time to sneak unnoticed into the back rooms. Now Mrs. Robinson stood in a narrow corridor which lead towards several closed doors on the one side and a set of stairs on the other. She glanced in both directions. The offices were likely to be hidden behind those doors. And paperwork might give enough evidence to prove whatever needed proving. She could be in and out within minutes. But her curiosity drew Phryne towards the steps. Paperwork had never really been her world.

There were faint voices trailing up the stairs, mixed with other noises that she couldn't place. So there were people down there, ready to discover her. Her heart drummed in her chest as she snuck down the dark steps one a time. Her heels almost soundlessly moved over the stone. At the foot a big door opened into a massive room. What Phryne spotted inside the hall took her breath away.

Rows of giant copper stills framed both walls, between them at least twenty workers swarmed like bees in the light of lanterns. Blood rushing in her ears, Phryne withdrew into the shadows of a dark corner. So, this wasn't a little grog trade on the side but a massive company. Judging from the turn of the stairs, she was now underneath the factory hall and this room was at least the same size. Phryne snuck closer to one of the tills, wiping a tiny puddle from the floor with two fingers. She sniffed. Gin, no doubt about it. Voices drew nearer, two men passed so close by the copper wall that Phryne, pressed against the metal, could have stuck out her hand to touch them. She didn't dare to breath until they were gone. She needed to get out of here, her instinct told her clearly. But a small group of workers destroyed her plan, as she watched them huddle near the passage that lead upstairs. The exit was blocked. Hastily the Detective's eyes brushed over the room. There was a small door at the other end and wherever it may lead, it was better than staying here in almost clear sight of a dozen workers.

Anyone who ran an operation like this one, probably didn't appreciate spies.

Following the wall, she slowly edged towards her goal. The workers were too absorbed in their various occupations to spot the woman sliding along the back wall. That was, until her foot hit something. For whatever reason the bucket had been standing on the floor, the sound of the metal rolling over concrete before finally smashing into copper, appeared to echo through the room. A dozen heads flew up. Phryne straightened, stared back at the shocked men with glittering eyes. Then she turned and ran for her life.

 

X

 

“Would you like to take a seat, Constable?”

“Thank you, Sir.”

Hugh took a look at the smugly grinning man who was gesturing to a wooden chair and felt sweat trickle over his brow. He had been rushing to the courthouse after a long, hard interview with Morgan, trying to draw a confession from Stella Campbell.

“You are aware of the importance of this hearing, I trust?” Solicitor Boyd prodded, raiding an eyebrow at the judge that told him clearly, how ill-mannered the late appearance of the Constable was to be considered.

“Very much so, Sir,” Hugh heard himself say, setting down his helmet and looking for a familiar face. Dottie smiled even though she felt faint.

“And yet, you did not feel compelled to appear in this courtroom half an hour ago, Constable?”

Hugh's eyes flew up. For a brief moment he had forgotten about the lawyer.

“I fear I was restricted by my duties, Sir.”

He raised his chin, holding Dottie's gaze, whose smile turned more sincere.

“Something more important than the decision over the life of a woman, Constable?”

Collins finally looked back at the man.

“I am afraid, Sir, it turned about the lives of many women. One of them currently struggling for her survival in a hospital.”

There was murmuring along the rows. Someone giggled faintly, as Boyd pulled out a handkerchief, wiping his forehead. Judge Banks looked on impatiently .

“After we have established the working morale of the Constable, can we continue with the relevant case?” he asked, after Boyd had tampered with his pockets for a while.

“Certainly, your Honour.”

He turned.

“Constable Collins, you were involved in the investigation against my client, is that correct?”

A small nod of encouragement from Dottie. Jane's hand got almost squished between her sweaty palms.

“Yes, I was, Sir.”

“And you have also been working with Detective Inspector Robinson for some years, Constable?”

“Three, Sir.”

Constable Collins had now time to screen the rows of faces for the Inspector and his wife while he answered the basic questions about his position and his work with Jack Robinson. They weren't there, he realised after a long moment. A look at his wife caused him to understand. Hugh's stomach clenched. The Inspector was supposed to be here. Something had happened!

“When did you notice his disappearance?” Boyd asked through the fog.

“When the Inspector was meant to attend work and he didn't come.”

“Is this a common occurrence?”

Hugh shook his head.

“Never. Inspector Robinson is very reliable.”

“Is he?” Boyd faked surprise, pacing the courtroom. “I am informed that he missed several weeks of duty just earlier this year.”

Hugh snapped out of his spinning thoughts to look at the thin, sweaty face of the Solicitor. So he wanted to play that game then? He glanced at Dottie, who had placed her second hand over her belly. A strange calmness came to him.

“Inspector Robinson missed some working time. That is correct.” Hugh rushed on, when he realised that the Solicitor was about to say something: “He was stabbed in the leg while protecting a victim from a notorious killer, Sir.”

Boyd looked annoyed and withdrew once again.

“And even from his sickbed he solved another case,” Hugh added proudly. There had not really been any beds involved and the wound had been mostly healed by the time, but that wasn't any of Boyd's concern.

“That sounds like the Inspector is quite the hero,” the man smiled faintly. It looked more like a nervous grimace. He turned his back, making clear that that hadn't been a question, but Hugh had his mouth already open. His voice swept clearly to the furthest corner of the room.

“I do not believe in heroes, Mr. Boyd, as I am a police officer and not a little boy. But if there is any man in the world who I admire, it would have to be Inspector Robinson.”

Hugh bit his lip, wondering if he had said something wrong. There were tears in Dot's eyes that he hadn't apprehended. A strange expression had come into the solicitor's features. He saw his chance.

“He is very dear to you, Constable?”

Hugh nodded, silently.

“He is almost like a father,” he heard himself say, before he could stop himself. “A big brother, possibly.”

Shock and embarrassment took over Hugh's brain. The thought had crossed his mind in the past, yet he had never intended to blurt it out across a court room.

“The Inspector was also the best man at your wedding, I am informed?” Boyd pressed on.

“That is correct. He was so kind as to take the burden upon himself, when my best men was bound to bed with a fever.”

That hadn't gone quite the way the Solicitor had hoped.

“And he is very good in his job? A strong mentor? Considering he is often mentioned in the papers, I would assume, also a great policeman?”

“That is correct.”

Hugh straightened his back. This was easier than he had thought.

“And yet, this strong man who is perfectly good at his chosen occupation, a war hero, a man of honour and loyalty – was kidnapped and nobody missed him until the time he was meant to appear for duty?”

Collins gaped at the Solicitor as if he had been slapped.

“He had only been taken the night before,” he ground out, when the first shock settled. Dot chewed on her lip, expecting the man to next blurt out the Inspector's divorce but was almost surprised when he took a different route.

“So, let me recount the events,” Boyd smirked. “This very strong man was easily kidnapped by this rather fragile woman you see over there. And nobody realised he was gone for several hours? When you went for a man hunt across the city?”

Hugh looked at Elaine Browning for the first time in the hearing. Her beauty had suffered visibly from a year in gaol, but he remembered her cold face that didn't seem to have a care in the world, with a dying man in her basement and a husband, murdered by her own hands, barely buried. Now she looked at him with her dark eyes deep in their caves. He felt hot anger returning.

“He was shot!” he all but yelled. “And I rather hope that you are aware of that fact!”

Boyd smiled once again, like a snake would smile at a mouse.

“Of course, Constable. Thank you.”

Hugh realised that he had been dismissed. But suddenly he knew that he wasn't going to go anywhere.

He rose to his feet.

“You're Honour, would you mind me finishing a recount of the events as I saw them happen?”

Judge Banks looked surprised as a pair of big eyes begged him for help. This was certainly not the standard procedure. But after a moment he nodded.

“I do not see what should prevail us from hearing the truth, Constable Collins. If you would like to return to your seat, Mr. Boyd.”

The lawyer looked shocked.

“But, your Honour, this is not-”

“I am quite aware of the protocol, Mr. Boyd. But this is a hearing, not a trial and as such I am taking the liberty of listening to the Constable.”

Grumbling, the Solicitor returned to his client. They whispered for a while. Hugh locked eyes with his wife, who nodded. They had kept the secret for long enough.

Then he closed his eyes, brought back pictures that he had tried to forget ever since the day in the last autumn. His voice was calmer than he felt when he finally spoke.

“We were investigating the sudden death of Victor Browning and had ventured into the murder of a young man, who had allegedly been shot by the deceased five months earlier. Neither of us was aware at the time that we ventured too close to a well-kept secret of the Browning Family. As things stood, Inspector Robinson didn't think he had made any headway at all. A misconception that he almost paid for with his life...

 

X

 

Phryne was certain that her heartbeat could be heard across the small cellar she was hiding in. Crouching behind one of the huge barrels lining the walls, she listened to the steps coming closer then run past the open door. She pressed further into the shadows, wrapping her hands around the wooden board she had found on the floor. Right now, she really wished Jack would come running through the door wielding his gun, but that was highly unlikely even if he should manage to storm Gabler's without collapsing.

She needed to get home, pack him up and make their way to Sanderson as fast as possible. Nothing was safe anymore. How stupid of her to get caught! If only she had taken her weapon, but the golden pistol was lying innocently between her belongings in the cottage. Steps drew nearer again, this time stopping. Phryne held her breath.

“She can't have gone far. Probably hidin' somewhere,” she heard, while the men ventured into the room. There were only three of them. She could probably... Phryne darted out of her hiding place, just before they had reached her, throwing up her knee and causing the closest one to collapse gurgling to the ground, then kicking a second against the shin and hitting the third with the plank before making a run for it.

The maze of corridors down here seemed endless. The men behind her had gathered their wits and were coming after her. A door appeared at some distance with faint light falling through the gap. But there were also the outlines of two figures in the direction she was running in. She recognised them instantly - the guard and his dog. Phryne wasn't scared of the man, he wasn't a teenager anymore and she could probably overwhelm him easily. But she did have a healthy respect for an angry dog. But there was no time to stop or think and she just propelled herself towards them.

“Down here!” she heard voices yell. Phryne scrambled down the hall. The dog had spotted her, resolving to bark at the woman in a mad dash down the hall, while her owner had stopped to glance into the darkness.

“Sorry,” Phryne panted, hitting the old man over the head, before he had had so much as a chance to realise that he was in danger. The bitch bared her teeth, growling lowly. She obviously didn't appreciate her owner being attacked.

“I'm sorry,” Mrs. Robinson whispered again, chasing past the animal, who angrily leaped at her, catching her by the sleeve. For a long moment, Phryne had the heavy weight of a dog dangling off her arm, before the fabric ripped, dropping the bitch heavily on the ground. Bessie yelped. Phryne pressed her lips together and darted on while men gathered behind her in the dark tunnel. She reached the door, panting and was blinded a second later by the light. The sun was setting behind the houses, turning the sky into an ocean of flames. It would have been beautiful, hadn't there been the horde of angry workers on Phryne's heels. She darted along the factory wall. Voices grew louder. It was knock-off time. Women and men, chattering, laughing, shouting, streamed from every hole of Gabler's. Phryne ducked between the other women, let the flow of bodies take her in and carry her out of the gates. Confused men searched through the workers, but the Private Detective had disappeared.

It took several minutes and a few streets, before Phryne dared to break away from her co-workers and fly down the road in the direction of their cottage. She needed to get to Jack. One of the men had been Terry Willis. Their cover was blown beyond repair. They were in danger!

 


	27. Eris

“...While he was attempting to end the struggle, the Inspector's wound broke open and he collapsed shortly after. You are correct that there is mostly other officer's handwriting on the protocols, Mr. Boyd – as Inspector Robinson was unconscious at the time they were drawn.” 

Silence had fallen over the court room, as breathes were held.

“He was back at the Station only two days later. So, whatever you want to say about the Inspector, he _is_ a strong, a honourable police officer, who didn't shy away from prosecuting your client, despite knowing that he was walking in danger. And Mrs. Browning and her family very nearly succeeded in murdering him in his line of duty.”

Hugh paused, gulped. Struggled for words that had come so easily in the last minutes. But he had to finish this.

“So, if you ask me again, Sir, if I hold the Inspector dear, the answer is: yes, I do. He is a superior officer I admire and a man I am proudly calling a friend and if this court decides to let this woman walk, then I do not wish to have failed speaking up against it. It is unjust!” 

Hugh looked at his wife who, to his confusion, was crying. More handkerchiefs had been pulled from pockets over the last few minutes. A nose was blown audibly. He turned to glance at Judge Banks, who wasn't crying, but gave him a slight nod.

'Well done, son,' was written across his features. The judge enjoyed his justice and despised men like Boyd, who would sell the world anything for the truth if they could reach the right price. A few people in the back scribbled happily into their notebooks. The press hadn't wanted to miss the last act of the play. They had not quite expected it to be so heart-wrenching. Yet, Hugh couldn't help but feel like he had spilled a secret that hadn't been his to tell. And there remained a niggling fear in the back of his mind.

He got to his feet, dismissing himself from the hearing and headed towards Sanderson.

“Where are they?” he whispered. The Chief Commissioner bit back any comment on the lack of a greeting.

“Our man was supposed to inform them, but we cannot get a hold of them.”

Hugh felt his heart sink. His eyes locked onto Dot's, while Boyd began the rest of his spiel. But the Constable was suddenly not very interested anymore in the ending of this play. They needed to find the Robinsons.

 

X

 

The rusty key fell onto the ground, slipping into a crack. Cursing, Phryne bent down to fish it out. Seconds later, her hands finally managed to open the door. It was silent and cold in the small cottage. Jack must be deeply asleep. At least  that  was what she was trying to convince herself of.  Nobody could have already reached him,  she had ran as fast as her legs would carry her . But w hen she stepped into the bedroom, her heart stopped. 

The tangled sheets were still lying the way they had been left. She felt for  Jack's side. It was cold. Phryne sank on the edge of the bed, her heart racing. A thousand thoughts restlessly spun through her head.  Her husband's things were still strewn across the bedroom, so he hadn't left – not that he would have after a single argument. Which meant, something else had happened to him. Had Gabler's men found him even before her mad dash? Or had his fever taken a turn for the worse and it had become necessary for him to see a doctor? Getting up, Phryne's eyes caught on a piece of paper, sitting on her night stand. 

“ _Have gone to work. Will talk tonight.”_

Phryne stared at the two sentences for a long moment. Then the oil lamp flew against the wall, shattering into a hundred pieces.

 

X

 

Jack was beyond wondering if he had made a good decision, by the time he settled with his beer on a table in the corner of the bar. His head was glowing, which made for an interesting contrast to his frozen feet. But he had come here for a reason and he would follow through on his plan. If he had drawn Phryne's wrath onto himself, he would prefer to at least have some defence that could withstand her first blow. And finding the Grog Baron was the most likely way to escape being strangled by her, he concluded. If she had even returned yet from her own dangerous mission.

His heart lay heavily in his chest when, after clinking his glasses with his fellow workers, Jack set the drink to his lips. He found a second later that Oliver Cromms was laughing at him.

“Turner, you drink like a girl, C'mon, finish. I'll buy the next round.”

Indeed, the men around him had already drained their glasses. Hurriedly Jack poured the ale down his raw throat, hoping to God that he wouldn't get himself a hangover. Right now he could hardly imagine how he could feel any worse, but he was certain that his body knew better and wouldn't hesitate to prove it.

The Inspector's head was already swimming, but he had joined into the pointless chattering when the second beer was shoved into his hand. This one went down easier. Cromms seemed to have too much money tonight and Jack had almost forgotten about being worried by the third. They would be all right. Phryne was probably home waiting for him. He just needed to steer the talk into the right direction. He dropped his voice.

“So, where do you get a drink here after hours?”

Miller laughed.

“Lookin' at ya, Turner, I think yer gonna have enough after six to last ya the night.”

“Quite easily,” Mike answered, grinning, between two deep sips of beer. “There is a backyard pub in Ballarat Street. Little Jacob is pouring out his grog there.”

Jack blinked slowly. It seemed almost too easy. But Nicholson grumbled from where he had been sitting silently over his beer.

“Tough stuff though that the kid's brewing. Nothing for a half man.” 

“Are ya sayin', he's a half man?” Miller laughed.

“Can't take a lot, from the look of it.”

Jack felt hot  flashes race through his body. He didn't feel right. 

“Who's 'Little Jacob'?” he asked nevertheless, berating himself for not listening to Phryne.

“I wouldn't ask too much, if I was you,” Cromms prompted. “That kinda questions can get ya into trouble fast 'round here, Turner.”

He looked at Jack, who was pale and sweating heavily, setting down his glass without drinking.

“Turner? You right?”

Cromms nudged him gently in the side. Jack was swaying like a leaf in the breeze.

“Think I need some fresh air,” he mumbled, barely audible.

“C'mon then, lets get you out of here,” his co-worker prompted, wrapping the Inspectors arm around himself and dragging him, under the laughter of the rest of the group, outside where he leaned him heavily against the wall. Darkness had set in and Cromms lit himself a cigarette, inspecting the ashen Turner with interest.

“You really can't take a lot, can ya?” he asked.

Jack didn't answer. He was concentrating on breathing, while trying to sort his spinning thoughts. The Inspector had never been a lightweight when it came to alcohol and even three and a half beers in barely 20 minutes shouldn't have this effect on him. Although he hadn't felt well, this wasn't right, his fuzzy brain pointed out. He pushed himself away from the wall. “Who's 'Little Jacob'?” he heard himself ask. The slurring voice didn't sound like his own.

“Damn persistent ya are. Just keep your mouth shut,” Cromms said, throwing the rest of his cigarette away. “I'd better get ya home, don't I?”

He tried to peel Jack Turner from the wall, but found himself suddenly being grabbed by the collar.

“What have you put in my drink?” Jack asked with his last strength, making a weak attempt at shaking his co-worker without keeling over. A pair of confused eyes stared back at him, when suddenly something wet was pressed on his face from behind.

A pair of arms was holding him upright, while Jack struggled in vain against inhaling the sickly sweet vapours.

“Welcome to hell, Inspector,” a rough voice whispered beside his ear, before the world faded away.

 

X

 

Albert stared at the woman who was restlessly pacing through his kitchen while angrily mumbling to herself. She would wear a hole into the floorboards, he was certain. He had grasped as much as that she wasn't happy with her husbands disappearance, but why exactly, he couldn't tell. There were no nasty colds in the spider's world and also no disagreements about abortions or distress about sly-grog traders.

Phryne was burning in anger. How dare Jack just dismiss her worry, despite the obvious danger attached?! A voice of reason reminded her that he had learned from the best.

The detective told herself firmly to calm down. He would be just fine – up to the moment she got her hands on him at least. But a look at the clock called her a liar. It was half past five and he still hadn't returned. He shouldn't be this long. Another round through the kitchen. A knock tore her from her dark pondering and caused her heart to leap in relief. But before she could reach the door, she thought better of it and grasped for the gun lying on the kitchen table. While she expected Jack, you couldn't know how fast Gabler's men worked.

“What on earth...?”

She trailed off. The man in front of her door was neither of the men she had expected. Eddie looked rather flustered, while he stared in shock at her hand. Phryne realised that she was still aiming her weapon at him and let it sink. Glancing outside, she pulled her friend into the kitchen by the arm.

“Have you seen Jack?” she asked, ignoring the obvious discomfort of the man.

“That's why I came, Phryne. I think he might be making a mistake.”

Mrs. Robinson slammed the door shut and turned to him.

“What do you mean?”

“He went out for drinks at the 'Glasshouse' with the lads tonight,” Eddie said, not daring to look at her. “I tried to warn him, but he wouldn't listen.”

Phryne stepped closer to her childhood friend. Despite being a head smaller and having returned her gun to the table, she seemed suddenly very threatening. Wenbrock took an instinctive step backwards, then glanced at the walls as if it had ears.

“Carter. I think he could be one of Little Jacob's men,” he whispered.

“Little Jacob?” Phryne repeated slowly, the wheels in her head turning.

“He's quite notorious around here,” Eddie explained quietly. “Some say he's somehow attached to the Browning's.” When she just stared at him, he continued. “That gangster family they threw in prison last year when they took a shot at the Commissioner and that Policeman...” His eyes widened almost comically in sudden shock. “Oh dear God, he's Jack, isn't he? Ya two were all over the papers. He's Jack Robinson?!” 

His voice had grown loud in excitement, all care forgotten, but Phryne wasn't paying any attention to him. She was already fishing for her hat.

“Eddie, listen! You get yourself a cab and to the City South Police Station. Ask for Hugh Collins. Tell him, it's Gabler's and to talk to Sanderson _right now_! Tell them everything you know, everything! I will get you the best legal representation if needed, but you don't leave anything out!” 

Eddie couldn't protest, he just nodded, whilst Phryne fished for her gun and shoved some money into his hands. It was way too much for a cab fare, but it didn't matter.

“Whatever ya want, Phryne, but what are ya doin'?”

“I will go find Jack! God help Carter if he as much as touched him!”

The door fell shut behind the Lady Detective a moment later and Eddie stared for a long moment after his disappearing friend, before he set out to find his way to a police station.

 

X

 

 

“Hugh, what's happening?”

Both Sanderson and Collins looked up from where they had been arguing, when Dottie stormed through the door to Jack's office, dragging Jane  in  behind herself. The Chief Commissioner cleared his throat loudly. 

“This is a police investigation, Mrs. Collins. It is not appropriate to share information at this stage.”

A moment later it became apparent that he had made a mistake, as Dot pulled herself to her full height.

“I will have you know, Commissioner Sanderson, that I am the assistant of Mrs. Robinson and currently the Guardian of their daughter, so if there is anything there is to know, it is my right to know it!” 

“That's just it. There is nothing to know, Dottie,” Hugh said quietly, watching Sanderson raise his eyebrows at him. “We don't know where they are.” 

“Our contact man in Collingwood has disappeared. And the men we sent out found their cottage empty,” Sanderson explained, bending to the pressure. He had experienced in the past that trying to argue with Miss Fisher or any of her family members was a futile exercise. He might as well not waste time.

“You lost them!? How on earth can you lose two detectives during an appointment?!” 

The angry words were addressed at Sanderson. A staring match proceeded when suddenly Jane tugged her hand free.

“Could you please stop arguing!” she asked, panting. “Those are my parents you are talking about. Why aren't you out there, searching for them?”

Hugh grabbed the girl by the shoulders, looking at her with all the sincerity he could muster in his eyes.

“We are, Jane. We got more than ten men out there, searching the neighbourhood right now.”

Jane knew that he was telling the truth, but it  didn't comfort her. She wanted to ask what would happen if they couldn't find them, but didn't dare. The brief knock at the door distracted them, leaving her no time to reply. A red head of hair was stuck through the gap. 

“Ah, the cavalry is here,” Mac stated dryly, when her eyes fell on the collection of people in the crowded room. “I just wanted to inform you that Mrs. Binch didn't make it, Constable.”

Hugh briefly forgot about their mission.

“What happened?”

“I'm afraid, the infection got out of hand, we couldn't get the fever under control. Poor woman didn't stand a chance.”

The doctor stifled a yawn.

“But now, please excuse me, I've been on my legs for 30 hours and currently don't have enough brain space to even meet this with the appropriate sorrow.”

She pulled the door shut behind herself before any of the people in the room could  react . Hugh ran a set of fingers through his hair, dishevelling himself, which was met by a disapproving look from his wife. Then the door opened again. 

“What exactly is going on?” Mac asked, suddenly appearing wide awake.

Hugh shook his head slowly, trying to shake off the words he wanted to yell.

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with, Doctor.”

Sanderson tried himself on a thin smile. He had also made the acquaintance of Doctor MacMillan before.

“Don't take me for a fool. The Commissioner is standing in Jack's office and you all look like someone shot your cat!” Mac pointed out, stepping into the room. It was too much for Jane.

“They've lost Phryne and Jack!” the girl cried, throwing herself against the Doctor's chest. Instinctively Mac wrapped her arms around her friend's sobbing ward, while staring a thunderstorm at Sanderson. 

“There had better be a very good explanation for this,” she growled. Her voice could have cut glass on a cold day. 

“Collins, there is a...”

Bert froze in the door, when he stared at a visibly annoyed Commissioner Sanderson.

“How is it possible, that Miss Fisher's whole family storms this office the very minute something goes wrong?”

“We are well organised,” Mac stated dryly, handing her handkerchief to Jane and tugging a wet lock of hair behind the girl's ear. 

“What's gone wrong?” Cec asked from behind his colleague. He was ignored.

“We picked up a man, who says he's been sent by Miss... Mrs. Robinson,” Bert said, not trying to hide his disgust at his employer having married a copper. 

“What are you waiting for then? Get him in here!” Dot exclaimed, all but shoving the Cabbies aside to get a look at the mystery man.

Sanderson raised his hands.

“Despite the collected disregard for procedure in this room, I have to insist that this is a police matter. The Inspector is an officer after all. So, can we please get the ladies home?”

Dot wanted to protest, but bit her lip when she looked at Jane, whose eyes were puffy and red. Hugh looked like he wanted to burst into tears as well, but she knew that he would do anything in his power to get the Inspector and Mrs. Phryne back home. There was little they could attempt until they had found more information and crowding around a single man wouldn't help. She nodded at Mac, who appeared also conflicted. 

“Under one condition,” the Doctor said while leading Jane towards the door. “You will inform us the very minute you find out anything new.”

“While I do in general not accept conditions attached to the cooperation of civilians, Doctor MacMillan, I will personally inform you if anything of importance occurs,” Sanderson agreed, his jaw clenched. “But now, please, let us do our jobs.”

The women left, followed by the grumbling Cabbies. Seconds later, a flustered man was led into the room by a young Constable with red hair.

“He says, he's got information on Robinson,” Constable Dahle stated, leaving no doubt about his thoughts on the matter. Sanderson nodded.

“Thank you, Constable. Please close the door on your way out.”

The man withdrew, leaving Wenbrock alone with two angry looking police officers. Eddie had a distinct feeling that his day wasn't about to improve.


	28. Event Horizon

Phryne had lost her breath when the lights of the “Glasshouse Hotel” finally appeared in the distance. The gaslamps didn't do much to illuminate the red brick covering the lower half and even less for the dark green upper storey. But Phryne remembered the impressive building. It had been were her father had drunk most nights. The thought of finding Jack in there caused her to shudder, but even more it frightened her that she might not. For all she knew, Carter might have finished off the job that the Brownings had begun a year ago and Jack's body was already swimming in the Yarra. The detective's feet flew faster over the cobbles as cold fear threatened to suffocate her. How could the  two of them have managed to be so utterly stupid? 

Just yesterday they had laughed dutifully about the strange coincidence of Carter's appearance in their neighbourhood as well as Jack's place of work. And yet, they had been too distracted to give it much thought while crying over soup pots and arguing about Natalija. If Jack didn't survive her thoughtlessness, Phryne realised with sudden clarity, she  w ould never forgive herself. 

Panting, she slammed against the closed door, grabbing for the handle.

“Miss, you can't... Miss!”

She shook off the man who had grabbed for her.

“Has anyone here seen Jack Turner?!” she yelled over the loud chatter that increased at the appearance of a woman in their midst. A giant rose, walking towards her and Phryne's hand automatically sought her pistol.

“He's been here with us,” Miller said, while the owner approached from the other direction. 

“You really can't be in here, Ma'am,” the short man with the glasses stated, but Phryne ignored him.

“Where is he now?” she asked the giant, who looked suddenly incredibly shy.

“He was quite drunk, Ma'am, and Cromms took him out on the fresh air. Haven't seen them since,” Miller explained. Phryne nodded, turning, while still ignoring the staff excitedly chattering at her.

Jack drunk? She had never seen him drunk before. Maybe there was a simple explanation and he was on his way home already, helped along by a co-worker. Blindly, she stumbled down the dark street behind the busy hotel, trying to catch her breath, when her eyes fell on something white against the dark cobbles. Phryne crouched down and picked up a used handkerchief.  _“P.F.”_ was stitched into the corner, in Dot's fine hand. 

“Jack?” she yelled in the vain hope that he was still here, throwing up his guts into a gutter somewhere. She turned, but silence and darkness swallowed every movement.

“Lovely of you to join us, Miss Fisher!” a rough voice said. Then something wet and smelly was pressed over her face. Phryne didn't think, everything she did was pure instinct. Her heel hit a shin while her nails bit hard into the hairy arm trying to clamp her against a male body. She spun, twisting the man's arm but encountered a fist hitting her against the jaw causing her to see stars, and a knee finding her stomach. She gurgled as a second set of arms grabbed for her, but managed to desperately bury her teeth into the hand. A pained scream sounded through the night, while she fished for her gun. 

Strong fingers wrapped around her wrist, sqeezing painfully hard before she could get a proper grip. The golden metal slid over the cobbles and vanished into the darkness. Phryne was panicking now, she aimed for a groin but struck only a thigh in the struggle of limbs. The cloth was pressed over her face again while she managed a second kick, this time succeeding. Cursing, the man went to the ground, but the one behind her held on tightly, clamping her arms to her chest. 

This had happened to Jack, she suddenly knew. It fuelled her anger.  Wildly gasping for air, she hit the attacker into the chin with her shoulder but merely caused him to lose his balance, taking her down with himself. They rolled over the ground in a near comical mess of arms and legs.  Jack's face appeared in front of Phryne's eyes, as she struggled. If she lost this fight she couldn't go searching for him. And Jane. Who would tell her? 

Phryne felt her head go light, as the vapour s invaded her brain. Trying to rip the  cloth from her face, she ended on her back, the  man's  heavy body pinning her down, cold cobbles underneath her, the stars high above turning into blurry dots of light. 'We are all lying in the gutters', crossed her mind. It was the last thing she thought before darkness fell. 

 

X

 

“Michael Carter?” Sanderson asked. Eddie nodded.

“He start'd workin' at Willersons, the day after Jack Turner did and there was that rumour that he was involved with some nasty people and spying on us. Those guys sometimes show their faces and then disappear again. So, when I realised that he was also living beside Jack and Phryne, I worked it out.”

To his surprise, the Commissioner grinned.

“I believe, you have gotten a hold of the wrong end of the stick, Mr. Wenbrock. Mr. Carter is working for Melbourne's Police Force. Our man was keeping an eye on the Robinsons during their assignment in Collingwood. Sadly he has also disappeared,” he added with a frown, before fixing his glasses.

“Disappeared?” Eddie parroted.

“Mr. Carter was entrusted with informing the Robinsons of a court hearing this afternoon,” Sanderson explained. “It passed without either of them attending.”

Eddie Wenbrock gulped.

“So, how certain are ya that he is your man, Sir?”

The Chief Commissioner traded a confused look with Hugh Collins, who had been silent for most of the interview.

“Please explain your meaning,” he finally urged.

“Well, _your man_ , Sir, didn't mention with a word that either of them should've been at the court today. In fact, he's been workin' along Jack all afternoon and then draggin' him to a bloody pub.” 

Both men watched on as the Commissioner took his glasses of his nose and started rubbing at them in a hectic manner. Eddie seemed to remember something else.

“She also gave me a message for ya. Phryne. I mean Mrs. Robinson. She said to tell ya that 'it's Gabler's'.” Wenbrock explained, sweating. There was silence for a long moment. 

Then, with sudden resolve, Sanderson jumped to his feet.

“What are you waiting for, Collins? Get the men ready, we have a raid to carry out.”

He turned to rush out the door himself behind the obedient Constable, but seemed to remember something in the very last minute.

“Thank you, Mr. Wenbrock. Would you mind doing me a favour?”

 

X

 

With a groan Inspector Robinson came to. His head was pounding, his mouth dry.  He was sitting in a chair, which was not the obvious position for an unconscious man and a silent  hint  that whoever  had  put him there, was not overly interested in his well-being. The other indication s were his wrists that were firmly tied behind his back. Jack pulled on his bounds as familiar terror flooded his senses. It was a nightmare, it had to be. 

“Ahh, Inspector. I am assuming you are experiencing a sense of deja vu in this moment,” a voice smiled. A young man stepped out of the shadows. “I am actually very pleased how well everything worked. You even brought a fever along, which was very considerate of you.”

Out of blurry eyes, Jack squinted at the man who was half covered in darkness. He was young, handsome. And the Inspector had never seen him before, he was certain.

“Who are you?” he asked, his voice cracking.

“Ah, that is a very interesting question, isn't it?” the man smiled. Jack's hands balled to fists behind his back, bumping against something soft that he couldn't place.

“Would you care to answer it?” he asked as calmly as he could manage.

“My name is Jacob Rose,” the young man smiled, sitting down on the edge of a table opposite Jack's chair. “Which probably will bring little to mind at this stage, but I'll make certain that you will never forget my name again, Inspector. In the rather short time that you have left to remember it, that is.”

Jack attempted to fight back his panic and ignore the threat. The name woke some long suppressed memory.

“You are Mrs. Browning's brother?” he asked.

The young man  who,  he was certain, hardly grew hair on his chest yet, grinned and jumped of the table edge. 

“Very good, Inspector. Half-brother, to be exact. As you felt compelled to yell out into the world, our father was not actually Elaine's. But those are just details.” He stepped closer. “You are trying to kill my big sister and I will not let that happen, Inspector Robinson.” 

“Is that why you kidnapped me?” Jack ground out, right before the gangster's aftershave brought on a coughing attack. When he looked up again, wheezing, the kid had tipped his head as if in thought.

“Partly. And partly, because it seemed fun. Don't you think, Inspector?”

He stood, stretching out his arms, smiling proudly, as if he had done a great magic trick.

“You and I will have a little replay of events. With maybe one small difference.”

He leaned in, causing Jack to gasp for air that was not saturated with the  overwhelming cloud of  perfume. 

“This time, Miss Fisher won't come for you.”

He laughed while Jack ripped on his bounds, a new wave of horror threatening to swallow him up.

“Where is she?!”

The man climbed happily back onto his table, without giving any answer.

“What have you done to Phryne, you bastard?!!!”

Jack could hear the panic in his own voice. He couldn't breath, his head felt light. Suddenly, there was movement behind him; soft, warm fingers wrapped around his trembling hands.

“I'm here, Jack,” a quiet voice rasped. “I'm right here.”

Jacob jumped to his feet, giggling about his cruel joke, while the Inspector collapsed into his chair, feeling that he might pass out by the mixture of fear and sheer relief. His fingers knotted around Phryne's, as if he was never going to let go again.

“She's right here,” Jacob Rose parroted, still laughing, then suddenly stopped and turned dead serious. “And the three of us will have some fun now.”

 

X

 

Mac rang off and returned to the parlour, where Mr. Butler was currently distributing tea between the waiting people crowding every seat.

“So, still nothin'?” Bert asked, draining his cup and extending it again.

The Doctor shook her head.

“Hazel will speak to Jack's family and see if anyone has heard from them. But I am guessing that the chances are slim.”

With a sigh she sank into an armchair and grabbed for her tea cup. Of course it was highly unlikely. Phryne and Jack would be much more compelled to contact anyone in this room or at City South than either of their relatives if they had gotten themselves into trouble. Mac was tired to her core. It had been a long couple of days. But sleep was not something she could even think of until Phryne and Jack were back. Why did her friends always insist on playing with fire?

Mac looked at Jane, who was wrapped up in a blanket, with her head on Dot's lap and stifled a yawn. No, sleep was not important right now. She flinched when a hand touched her shoulder.

“Would you like me to prepare a guest room for you, Doctor?” Mr. Butler's gentle voice asked.

“You seem, if you will allow me to say, to be in desperate need of rest.”

“I am perfectly fine,” Mac lied, accepting a refill of her cup, “but thank you”. The butler smiled. What the doctor really wanted was a glass of whisky. The fact that it hadn't already magically appeared in the servant's hands, however, told her that it wasn't a good idea. She might need her senses tonight.

Under quiet whispers Mr. Butler retreated towards the kitchen to retrieve some more biscuits, when the knock sounded. Silence fell, breathes were held. Jane pulled herself into a sitting position. But the male voice greeting Mr. Butler at the door, wasn't Jacks. Seconds later a tall, skinny man stepped into the living room, twisting his hat in his hands.

Eddie wasn't sure if to be more intimidated by the five pairs of eyes staring at him or the parlour itself.

“Bloody hell,” it escaped him, before he could stop himself. “No wonder, Phryne looks out of place there.”

When nobody seemed able to greet Wenbrock, Cec rose, offering him his armchair.

“You talked to Sanderson, mate?” Bert asked while the man accepted a cup from Mr. Butler's hands.

“I did. Scary man,” Eddie stated, looking at Jane who was examining him out of big blue eyes without saying a word.

“Can say that aloud,” the Cabbie grumbled, while Cec placed himself on the edge of the piano stool.

“Asked me to come over here and tell ya what's goin' on though,” Eddie added, refusing an offered biscuit.

“Are you intending to do so?” Mac asked, not without sarcasm. Eddie looked at the woman, nodding slowly. She looked like death walking, but also very angry. A friend of Phryne's, if he would have to guess. He thought of his old friend, storming out into the night to search for her husband.

“I'm afraid they're in trouble,” he said quietly. “The Brownings are gettin' their revenge.”

A teacup burst on the floorboards.

“I apologize,” Mr. Butler muttered, crouching down to clean up. Dot was beside him a second later, picking up the shards of porcelain in a hectic manner. Mac watched them with dull eyes.

“What do you mean?” Jane urged. “The Brownings are in prison aren't they?”

Eddie kneaded his hat on his lap.

“I'm afraid not all of them.”

A half-swallowed curse sounded from the floor, where Dot had cut her thumb on a shard. A drop of blood splashed onto the white remainders of the cup. But nobody looked at her. Eddie gulped. His day really wasn't improving.

 

X

 

With a heavy and very final thud the door fell into it's lock. It was incredibly solid looking, Mrs. Robinson found. The two chairs standing back to back, were only dimly lit by the flickering light.

“What are you doing here?” she heard the Inspector whisper.

Phryne kept trying to reach the most stubborn knot she had ever encountered, before answering.

“The same as you, Jack. I seem to be tied to a chair.”

She was aware that she was snapping. Being kidnapped and at the mercy of a madman seemed a rather good excuse for that. Also, she suffered a pounding headache, probably caused by the drugs she had inhaled. The  L ady  D etective wondered half-heartedly how long she had been out before Jack's panicked voice had woken her. The darkness seeping through the one, boarded-up window didn't help her sense of time. 

Behind her back, she could  feel Jack fiercely struggling against  his bounds. Right now she really wished she could see him, touch him. The terror was coming in waves of f him and her own throat was growing tight. He had felt it all before and Phryne suspected that th e sense of being trapped in his worst nightmare, overruled even Rose's open threats to kill them both. The Inspector had been in many dangerous situations in his life, but this was different. This was Jack losing the battle against himself. 

“We need to get out of here,” he panted. Phryne turned her head far enough to be able to get a glimpse of his face in the faint light. 

“Jack.”

He didn't answer, just ripped on the ropes in senseless fear.

“Jack! Stop!”

The Inspector flinched, but paused in his violent struggle against his fate. Phryne realised that she had yelled at him. Her fingers let go of the knot the y ' d been working on and fished for his powerless hands, trapped between the backs of their chairs. 

“Please stop,” she repeated quietly.

“We are going to die,” he said, matter-of-factly. But his wife knew him well enough to hear the fear that was taking his breath away. It was scaring her more than Rose ever could.

“I have no intention of the kind,” Phryne stated with all the certainty she could muster. “And neither do you!”

There was silence for a long moment. Then a formerly limp hand moved, grasping for hers - the rescuing rock in Jack's stormy sea. His laboured breathing slowed while she was rubbing calming circles on what she assumed to be the back of his hand.

“I'm sorry,” he finally uttered with surprising calmness. Phryne smiled to herself. Rose's plan hadn't worked. He'd thought he could eliminate her by locking her up with Jack, but really he had just given her an advantage – She didn't have to search for her Inspector this time. 

“Don't mention it,” she quipped. “Now, how do we get out of here?”

“I'm afraid that my ability at tying knots has found its equal,” Jack stated after a long moment of fiddling with Phryne's rope.

The door flew open before his wife had a chance to make a cheeky comment about last night's adventure on the kitchen counter. Rose stepped into the room. The weapon glittering in his hand seemed awfully familiar.


	29. Shadow Universe

“Open the gates, Police!”

Hugh flinched. He hadn't expected Morgan to be even able to yell at this volume. Lights turned on in neighbouring houses, a baby screamed.

“What's goin' on?”

An old, grumpy guard shuffled across the dark yard of 'Gabler's Textiles', a dog trailing behind him. Both looked like they had just woken from deep sleep. In the flash of several lamps, a bandage on his head woke in the Constable the suspicion that the man had made the acquaintance of Mrs. Robinson lately.

“Open the gate. Right now!” Sanderson bellowed.

“And who ya think you are then?” the guard asked, ignoring the horde of policemen.

“I am the Chief Commissioner of police and if you don't obey this minute, I will find a reason to lock you up for the rest of your life,” Sanderson growled. It seemed to have little effect on the man, but he did unlock the thick chains closing the gate, all the time quietly mumbling to himself. Seconds later 20 armed men stormed into the quiet factory. Silence greeted them between the stopped machinery and the empty working tables.

Sanderson gave the sign to move forward. Tentatively, the men ventured through several doors and into a dark hallway leading to the offices and some storage rooms.

“Pack up everything you can find,” Sanderson yelled. Hugh watched him from a distance, where he was shoving folders filled with pointless numbers into boxes. Of course, they needed prove. But they weren't really here for sly grog - none of them were. The Constable was wondering if Sanderson really cared about the alcohol trade right now or if he too was searching for the Robinsons. His question was answered by Sanderson pushing the last door open with vigour.

“They're not in here.”

“Ya might wanna have a look down those stairs,” the guard, who had shuffled in behind them, pointed out.

“What's down there?” Hugh asked, breathlessly.

“What ya looking for, I'm guessin'. Assumin' the Lady sent ya. Rather good aim she had, the girl.”

He grabbed for his head wound and winced theatrically.

“Is she still here?” Morgan asked.

“Who?”

“The woman who hit you!”

The man laughed throatily.

“I doubt it. If they'd gotten a hold of her, they probably killed her by now. Sniffing around in the back is not somethin' Little Jacob appreciates. But what do I know?”

“What indeed?” Sanderson stated under his breath, but nevertheless waved his hand at Constable Collins, who was already at the top of the steps. Hugh slowly crept down the stairs, feeling Jones's breath in his neck. Even Dahle seemed to have lost every sense of his questionable humour at this point in time. The light of the lamps flitted over the stone walls, as they ventured further into the darkness. Beside a massive door frame, Collins' fingers found a switch. The light blinded him as the whole, windowless hall was dipped into brightness. By the time he managed to blink, he heard Morgan whisper by his side.

“Holy cow!”

Hugh wasn't sure, what shocked him more. The fact that Inspector Morgan knew words like this or the sight that showed itself to his unbelieving eyes. Sanderson pushed past the stunned men with a mumbled curse, then stopped himself.

“Well, I didn't expect that,” he said quietly, staring at the rows of massive copper stills. Hugh thought it was a little bit of an understatement. Suddenly, the Chief Commissioner snapped out of his silence.

“Right. We are not here to gape. Bent and Worrick, guard the entrance. The rest: Search everything, see if you can find any evidence leading to the whereabouts of the Inspector and his wife!”

Hugh broke from his silent stance and found himself galloping through the massive factory hall in a crowd of other policemen. His heart was fluttering in his chest like a scared bird. This was big, he realised. This wasn't a little illegal grog, this was a massive business. And people who ran huge, illegal businesses didn't hesitate in ridding themselves of nosy witnesses.

There were more hallways, more doors. Yelling soon filled every dark corner as they discovered rows over rows of bottles, kegs and boxes – but no Robinsons. The last room at the end of the hall, had a tiny light shining through the door. A weak voice filtered through the cracks. The door was solid and locked.

“Move aside,” Hugh bellowed, realising that he was yelling at Inspector Morgan, who however obediently shuffled out of his way. Dahle wasn't quite so lucky and was hit in the chest with an elbow, as Hugh tried to kick the lock in. It took him three attempts until he gave up. Sweat was pouring down his forehead.

“Not quite as heroic as imagined, is it?” Dahle grinned. The voice inside had grown louder, now openly yelling undecipherable things.

“Wait, I think I got a key here,” a voice said from behind. The old guard shuffled closer, the dog still on his heels, dipping its head. The old man sorted with complete patience through the rusty keys, then he finally nodded.

“This one.”

Hugh took the key from his hands before anyone else could and unlocked the door. A man sat, in half darkness tied to a chair in the middle of the room.

“Thank God, I thought I'd rot here,” Oliver Cromms exclaimed. But nobody was listening to him. Morgan stepped towards him, taking the letter that was stuck underneath the rope wrapped around his big chest.

“It has your name written on the envelope, Sir,” he stated slowly, turning to Sanderson. 21 men and a dog watched the Chief Commissioner grasp for the letter addressed to him and rip it open. He read in silence. Then he turned around and walked out without another word.

 

X

 

“I assume,” Rose stated casually, “you would like to know, Inspector, that your former father-in-law should find a letter,” he glanced at his golden watch, “right about now. If he values you enough, you might survive the night.”

He laughed, jumping off the table.

“Then again, don't give yourself into any delusions.”

Jack stared at him out of glassy eyes. Ever since Phryne had dragged him kicking and screaming out of his initial panic, he was starting to see the ironic part of this whole exercise and the endless talking started to get on his nerves. Especially since he was feeling rotten. The man came closer, suffocating him once again in his aftershave, lowering his voice to a threatening growl. But Jack knew the words already.

“You will not walk out of here alive, Inspector.”

“I have a question, Rose,” the Inspector said after a long moment. His captor looked a little confused, but snapped back quickly.

“Does insanity run in your family? Or was it caused by the alcohol fumes you've inhaled?”

There was something almost resembling a choked down giggle coming from the other chair.

He saw it coming, but nevertheless the sharp metal of Phryne's gun hit Jack unprepared. His head flew to the side, the scratch burning like fire, blurring Jack's sight for a long moment. He blinked, finding Jacob Rose pulling himself back to his full height.

“That was just to remind you of the sincerity of the situation, Inspector,” he said happily, to Jack's horror walking around the chairs and for the first time focusing on Phryne.

“Well, Miss Fisher. You seem to find this little meeting very funny. I am glad, you do enjoy the company.”

“Oh, I do enjoy male company,” she purred. Jack wrapped his fingers tighter around Phryne's, trying to calm the raging anger he sensed in her voice. A thin line of blood was dripping down his chin, tickling. He regret that he had provoked Rose by now. But then it was hard to take this happy, pretty kid seriously, hadn't it been for the cold, brutal quality of his insanity. Like a knife hidden in a bunch of flowers.

“But then I enjoy a certain manliness in them,” Phryne continued. “Tying people to chairs and waving around guns generally disqualifies them.”

The man laughed and Jack reminded himself to keep breathing.

“Did you hear that, Inspector? Your wife is quite funny, isn't she?”

A gasp was all Jack could hear. He struggled, trying to see what was going on. The shadows told him everything and much more than he'd wanted to know. When the tight hand finally let go of Phryne's throat, she gasped for air.

“I hear that some people get a certain thrill asphyxiation,” she quipped, her voice rough with strain. “But I personally must say, it does nothing for me.”

The Inspector was holding onto her so tightly that he was worried of breaking her fingers.

'Please stop,' he silently begged his wife, while searching his brain feverishly for something that would distract the man from her.

“Oh, you really are funny, Miss Fisher. What I shame I am going to have to shoot you.”

Jack twisted in his chair, staring in horror at the shadow of a weapon that was being raised.

“Stop, Rose, please,” he heard himself beg. His head was swimming, he wasn't certain if with adrenaline or fever.

“Don't worry, Jack. He won't kill me.”

Phryne was staring at the madman's face with as much calmness as she could muster. The man laughed again, without letting the weapon sink.

“True,” he said. Then he pulled the trigger.

 

X

 

An angry Judge Banks stormed into Sanderson's office, followed by a rather embarrassed looking Mr. Easton, who stared apologetically at the Commissioner.

“What is the meaning of this, George? Are you aware what time it is?”

“I am in possession of a clock, Abraham. Please sit down. Something has occurred that we haven't considered.”

Abraham Banks thought about this for a long moment, but the seriousness displayed on the policeman's features let him drop into the offered chair with an annoyed grunt.

“So, what is so important to warrant calling me out of bed at this time of the night?”

Sanderson didn't answer straight away. He folded his hands carefully on the table and stared at his opposite through slightly smudged glasses. Banks was growing impatient by the time his old friend finally spoke.

“The Robinson's were assigned to find a major Grog Baron in Collingwood. And they did.”

“Surely that could have-”

“But he also found them!”

An envelope was shoved over the desk. Judge Banks took it and read in silence.

“He's playing us,” Sanderson said. “Like puppets.”

The men locked eyes. Neither of them liked that particular role very much.

 


	30. Supernova

Jack didn't realise that he was screaming until the shot had rung out and the humming in his ears stopped. He twisted madly in his seat, trying to get a look at his wife.

“Phryne?”

There was no answer. The hand that had a few moments ago been entwined with his own in an almost painfully tough grip, now lay limply in his.

“Phryne!?”

There was laughter and Jack suddenly knew that he was dreaming. He would wake up. Any moment now, he would open his eyes and Phryne would be sitting up in bed beside him, staring at him in confused worry. He was so lost in his fantasy that he didn't realise the motion for a long moment. Something was fluttering against his hand.

Phryne was still fighting the red hot haze of pain veiling her sight. She felt currently unable to talk, but despite the agony her right hand moved to hold Jack's, brushing weakly against all the skin it could find - letting him know that she was alive. She remembered with vivid clarity the brief moment when she had been certain that he had been murdered. She wouldn't wish the feeling on anyone, least of all Jack Robinson.

“She isn't dead, Inspector,” Rose came unexpectedly to her aid. “Not yet at least. Just a little shot in the shoulder.”

He grinned, walking back over to Jack who stared at him in the way you'd look at a disgusting insect.

“You sick, twisted-”

“You know why she is still alive?” the voice cut him off coldly. “Because deep down I might be a nice man. But I wouldn't gamble it.”

He walked away without so much as glancing at the Inspector, who closed his mouth.

“Oh and of course because it would be way too easy,” Rose quipped, climbing back onto the edge of his table. He watched Jack who was still scowling in rage at him while happily playing with the loaded weapon.

“You know, Inspector Robinson, I am not quite certain yet, who of you will die first. Maybe I'll let Miss Fisher bleed out and you can listen to it, what do you think?”

“Go to hell!” Jack spat.

“Aww, Inspector. That's not very nice.”

Jacob casually wandered back over, not seeing the fingers that were currently rubbing Phryne's hand with as much calmness as Jack could muster. The agony of a bullet eating it's way through your flesh, was all too well etched  onto his memory. 

“But... there are other options.” 

Rose smiled, thoughtfully placing the barrel against Jack's lower abdomen. The Inspector held his breath.

“To make this the real experience for you, I am rather tempted to shoot you as well. We could see if you can survive it a second time.”

He lifted the weapon, staring at it for a long moment. Jack dared to draw some air into his aching lungs.

“Then again, I am not certain what this bullet will do. What you think, Miss Fisher? Will it stop before it tore every organ to shreds? I think if I aim here...” The cold metal was shoved painfully hard into Jack's stomach, “...I might shatter you're spine as well. That would certainly keep you from walking out of here.” 

Rose giggled at his own joke.

“I'm afraid the girls where right when they said you were all brawn and no brains,” a strained voice taunted him.

Phryne sounded a lot more collected than you would expect from someone being recently shot, but her pain was obvious. Jack, who had attempted to stare calmly at Rose, bit so hard on his lip that he could taste blood. His hands said silently everything he wanted to express. 'Don't provoke him. I want you to get out of here alive.'

But Phryne had no intention to shut up. Her left shoulder currently was an agonising sea of flames and the red liquid seeping through her last clean blouse, didn't improve her mood in the slightest. Her headache still hadn't left her, if anything having increased by the massive bang near her head. But most of all the hand clamping around hers in fear, fuelled her rage. This madman had gotten it into his twisted brain that Jack was 'murdering his sister' and he was going to torture him. Phryne wouldn't accept it.

“I do feel the need to inform you that a shot to the stomach and spine is likely to kill him instantly. It would certainly spoil your sense of fun.”

“That is true of course, Miss Fisher.” Rose seemed to contemplate this, then giggled. “Even though I wasn't aware that you were quite so keen on getting rid of your husband. But then, a woman's wish is my command.”

The weapon glimmered in the gaslight. A door opened in the background. Phryne was protesting, he knew, but Jack couldn't hear anything she was saying, just stared paralysed at the barrel aimed at him. Then he squeezed his eyes shut firmly, held his breath. Clasped onto her with all his strengths. Waited for the pain.

 

X

 

 

Eddie had really intended to go home as soon as he had informed Phryne's family what had happened. But he'd found himself dragged into the whirlwind that was the Fisher Clan with such force that he considered himself unable to leave. Truth be told, he felt scared and guilty, and even though his conscience told him that he should return home to his family, he wasn't quite certain if he could. Latest when Jack hadn't denied that there  were  ulterior motives for his move to Collingwood, a nasty voice in his head told him over and over, it should have clicked in his brain. He'd known after all that Phryne was a Lady Detective. Plenty of times he had found her in the newspapers and grinned to himself. Yet, he hadn't made the connection until today. How incredibly dumb of him. 

Eddie rubbed his hands over his face, realising that he was being watched. The girl hadn't said a word yet. Nobody else seemed to take any notice of them. She stood, stretching out her fingers.

“I am Jane,” she said. Eddie took the cold hand, looking at the teenager blankly.

“Hello Jane,” he croaked.

“Their daughter,” Jane stated casually, sitting down opposite him. “Ward really, but that makes no difference.”

Eddie just stared at her. He remembered Jack denying that he had any children. This explained why he'd looked like his teeth were being pulled.

“They haven't told you about me, have they?” the teenager asked. Eddie shook his head but thought better of it.

“Course they have. Spoke nothin' but highly of ya.” 

To his surprise, Jane grinned.

“You're lying.”

He didn't so much as blink.

“Yeah, I am. Haven't mentioned ya with a word.”

“Didn't expect them to,” she said, still grinning. But there was a melancholy in her eyes that caused in Eddie the want to reach out and hug her. Of course she was much older than his Daisy but the way she looked at him reminded him of his daughter all the same. 

“They were just trying to protect ya,” he said.

“I know that.” Jane chewed on her lip in thought. “But what if they don't come back?” 

The question was out before she could think twice  about it. This stranger, Phryne's childhood friend, somehow was the one person she could ask th e question she  had swallowed down for days. 

“They'll be back,” Eddie said with so much conviction that she was tempted to believe him. He stretched out an inviting hand and Jane sat down on the edge of his armchair as if he was her grandfather, rather than a person she had never met until an hour ago.

“You know, when we were kids, Phryne and I once got into trouble with this gang. There was six of them older boys, trying to beat us up. She ran for it and I was bloody furious.”

Jane shook her head.

“That doesn't sound like Phryne.”

Eddie smiled. She really did remind him of his little girl.

“Wasn't Phryne, it turned out. A few seconds later she was back, three other kids in tow. She was merely evening out the odds.”

Wenbrock chuckled at the memory.

“What I'm trying to tell ya is that Phryne won't leave ya behind. She's like that. And Jack's a brave man. They'll come back for ya.”

They were interrupted by some commotion outside in the hall. Jane was there in a split second, finding Dot and Mr. Butler attempting to open the door at the very same moment, while Bert came out of the dining room, a sandwich in hand. Mac was all but running down the stairs from the other side of the house. The man standing on their porch didn't look anything like Commissioner Sanderson, but logic demanded that it had to be him. He was pale like a ghost when he stepped over the threshold, handed his hat and coat to Mr. Butler in an automatic gesture that didn't need any thought.

“I came personally, as promised,” he said after a long moment of people staring at him. The collection of human beings were holding their breaths while he took his glasses down and polished them.

“Well, spit it out,” an angry voice sounded from the back. Mac walked towards him, the rest of the family parting like the red sea until she stood right in front of the pale Commissioner, who was still fiddling.

“We raided 'Gabler's Textiles' and found a man who worked with Detective Inspector Robinson in Collingwood. Or rather his cover identity. He had this letter on his person.”

He pulled the by now crumpled envelope from his chest pocket and handed it to the Redhead, with a moment of hesitance.

“I hope you are aware that I should not be here, sharing classified information with you.”

“So why are ya?” Bert asked from the back.

Sanderson looked at him, as if he'd only just realised the rest of the collected people. He wasn't often spoken to like this.

“Because I've sent Jack and Miss Fisher out there to protect them, and we utterly failed in doing so,” he admitted, watching Mac's face turn an even lighter shade of pale. “I am here as a private person, taking responsibility for my misjudgement.”

“I'm sure that sounded great in front of yer mirror, mate,” Bert grumbled.

Mac looked up.

“They are held ransom for Elaine Browning's freedom?!”

George nodded.

“Her brother openly admits to a huge grog-empire ran from the back rooms of 'Gablers'.”

“And you sent them right into his arms?”

Sanderson stared at the floor for a long moment.

“I did and you have my sincere apologies. I had no idea.”

“But plenty of that,” Cec grumbled. Excited talking broke between the people in attendance.

“Can we all calm down please?!”

Eyes flew up to stare at Mr. Butler. Nobody had ever heard him talk this loud before.

“What are your intentions?” he asked Sanderson.

“Let me assure you, I have every man on the case,” Sanderson prompted.

“Are you going to release Mrs. Browning?”

Another nervous rub of glasses was the only answer they received for a long moment. Then Sanderson shook his head.

“I have just left a meeting with Judge Banks. He is set on her being executed tomorrow morning.”

The chatter in the room now turned deafening.

“He will kill them!” Dot exclaimed, holding on to her stomach as if she could protect her child from the nightmare that was happening.

“I am sorry,” Sanderson said. “I truly am. But we cannot give into the ransom of a madman. Or we will have criminals all over the city pop up and hold guns to people's heads, demanding their comrades be released.”

He made sure not to look at Jane, who had tears streaming down her cheeks, with Eddie holding onto the girls shoulders.

“That's not good enough!” the man bellowed. “You sent them there!”

But Wenbrock's protest drowned in the voices surrounding the Commissioner. The Butler, whose name he hadn't caught, marched up to Doctor MacMillan who was not holding back on her opinion and gently pulled her to the side by the shoulders.

“Tell me, Sir, are you really here as a private person?” he asked. People fell silent.

“Yes, as I stated earlier, by rights I shouldn't-”

A very precise fist caused the Chief Commissioner to stumble backwards, grasping onto his jaw in shock. Angrily he glittered at Mr. Butler, who was holding on to his aching hand.

“Just making sure,” Tobias grimaced.

“You know,” George said, catching himself. “I could book you for assault even if I am not here in my function as Chief Commissioner.”

“Surely that can wait until we have found the Robinsons,” Mr. Butler answered, handing Sanderson back his hat and coat. “Now, Sir, I am assuming you have some sort of plan other than letting them die. Don't let us keep you.”

Sanderson looked into the circle, wanting to protest his dismissal as well as the attack, but only found pain and rage etched onto the flushed faces.

“Goodnight,” he said stiffly, then stalked out the door, only realising outside on the porch that he had just taken his first beating from a butler. Worst of all was that he wasn't entirely certain that he didn't deserve it.

 

X

 

It took some time for Jack's stinging lungs to convince him that he really needed to breath. He burst into a cough, then carefully pried his eyes open in the certainty that a grinning Rose was only waiting for an unprepared moment.

It had occurred to the Inspector by now that the madman wasn't really as much interested in killing him as he was in seeing him suffer. And that he had mainly captured Phryne for that very reason. His wife was DI Robinson's vulnerable spot – it wasn't a secret, not something he had ever been able to  conceal . And now she took the fall for his weakness. Rage flooded his veins at the thought. Jack fully opened his eyes to find that Rose had turned away, still holding the pistol but whispering  to a grim looking man with olive skin. 

“Ahhh, it seems Sanderson has made an unexpected move on the chess field,” Rose quipped, but he seemed a shade paler than before. “We might have to postpone your little date with your wife's gun, Inspector. But don't worry, I will be back. Enjoy our hospitality.”

With that, both men left. The lamp flickered quietly. Jack took some calming breaths, trying his hardest to stay conscious. His head was glowing and he felt dizzy, if due to a lack of oxygen, the aftermath of the drugs or simply adrenaline, he couldn't have said.

“I'm terribly sorry to interrupt your moment there, Jack, but my shoulder is bleeding rather strongly. And I also feel absolutely no desire to listen to you being shot. Can we please get out of here?”

Jack's eyes snapped open. He had for a moment allowed himself to forget Phryne's shotgun wound. He swallowed down an apology together with a cough.

“Any thoughts on how we will accomplish this, Miss Fisher?” he asked, letting go of her hand to return to the challenge of untying the invincible ropes that kept them captive.

“If my detective skills aren't letting me down, there is only one knot holding your wrists to the back of this chair, so if I manage to...” there was struggling behind him followed by a pained groan, “...undo this, you should be able to stand up.” 

Jack felt an incredible sense of relief as he moved his aching arms from their strained position. Even though his still tied wrists didn't allow much room, it was a start.

“Well, that leaves only the fact that my legs are still bound to a chair,” he quipped. “I'm not certain that hobbling around will make for a very elegant escape plan, Miss Fisher.”

He could hear her roll her eyes at him, but staring down at his work boots in the half-darkness, a thought occurred to him.

“You wouldn't happen to carry your knife, would you?” he asked.

“Have you ever seen me without it?” Phryne smiled, sensing his will to escape finally spark. She had been worried.

“On multiple occasion, actually. Most very enjoyable. However, right now I'd prefer if you did carry.”

“Well, Inspector, if you want to search me for any concealed weapons, you will have to come over here.”

Jack allowed himself a breath of relief. So, despite a gaping hole in her shoulder, the Honourable Miss Fisher was still in attendance. He wriggled his right foot, twisting it into a painful position, but finally after a lot of panting and struggling he managed to pull himself free, leaving his boot in the trap of rope.

“What exactly are you doing over there, Jack? I seem to be witnessing a lot of laboured breathing.”

Phryne twisted her head, but didn't find a satisfactory perspective that could have answered her question.

“Have you ever played Indian as a child, Miss Fisher?” Jack asked, without explaining much.

Mrs. Robinson frowned.

“Not that I recall.”

Jack didn't answer. He was already busily working on his second foot. Grimacing, he twisted his ankle until he felt it would snap at any given moment. Then he was free. He wanted to scream in excitement. But there was no time for that.

“In that case I will have to explain it later. Let's just say our friends aren't quite as smart as they think themselves.”

Jack avoided to look at the blood drenched part of Phryne's blouse or the paleness of her cheeks. There was no time for this either. His heart was pounding. They needed to free themselves as long as Sanderson was distracting Rose. His wife was staring with some amusement at him as he awkwardly dropped down at her feet, his tied hands not being much help in keeping his kneecaps from smashing painfully onto the stone floor. He grimaced.

“There is a position we haven't tried of yet,” she quipped, while he started dragging up her skirt with his teeth.

“And I'd rather wished we'd left it to that,” Jack mumbled through a mouthful of fabric, inch by inch freeing her white thigh to his eyes. It was probably the most unerotic situation he had ever been in, but rubbing his cheek against her stocking, he couldn't help but remember. The Inspector gulped, then coughed a moment later when he almost suffocated on a corner of her skirt. So maybe this was not the time for erotic daydreams either. Feverishly, his teeth shuffled fabric aside until the edge of her stocking appeared, nestling in it the small dagger she kept there for situations like this one.

Phryne had fallen silent while watching her husband work with a tiny smile. She probably shouldn't have enjoyed this, considering that they were in mortal danger to be slaughtered by a madman, Jack didn't look at all healthy and her shoulder was hurting nastily.

But there was adrenaline pumping through her veins and while some erotic associations did come to mind, it wasn't what really occupied her brain at this moment. It was pride, she found, when Jack retreated, his teeth tenderly holding on to her knife, having managed to pull it from it's sheath without cutting her – which was a skill, Phryne had had to master before she had taken to carrying the dagger around with herself. Pride and love!

He was grinning triumphantly at this stage and she longed to kiss him.

“Well done, Jack,” Phryne smiled, as he crawled around her in a rather inelegant fashion, nudging the second chair out of the way and seconds later the steel was dropped into her healthy hand. She gripped onto it as tightly as possible without hurting herself. She really did bleed enough already.

“Now, turn around and I'll cut loose your hands,” she demanded. Jack obeyed.

“I'd appreciate it, if you refrain from slitting my wrists, Miss Fisher,” he stated dryly, when the tip of her knife pierced his skin.

“I shall attempt my hardest,” Phryne pressed out between gritted teeth. “Commanding a knife behind my back with one hand is however not something I have done very often in the past.”

“And there I thought you'd use this knife with your eyes closed,” the Inspector smiled, while his worried look brushed over the door. There were voices audible in the hall. If Rose or one of his men walked into the room this minute, all their hope could evaporate. But nobody came and a second later, he felt air brush over his wrists. The relief was overwhelming.

“Thank you,” he whispered, pressing an excited kiss to Phryne's ear, before fishing the knife from her hand.

“My pleasure, Inspector. I do command some skills with ropes as well it appears,” his wife smiled, but Jack was too busy to flirt with her right now. His fingers were numb from having been pressed into the same position for such a long time, but nevertheless it took only seconds until Phryne was free as well.

“Ouch,” she gasped, when she moved her shoulder.

Jack grimaced.

“Does it hurt?”

“That is a rather silly question,” Phryne pointed out.

“So it is.”

Worriedly Jack watched more blood seep through the white fabric, while he helped his wife to her feet. She was swaying more than he was comfortable with. But he bit his lip to avoid any further silly questions, instead removing the scarf from her neck and carefully wrapping it into a make-shift sling. Phryne was shot, losing blood, he needed to get her out of the grasp of those dangerous criminals and to a doctor. No question in the world would change that.

She let him handle her in silence, which only increased his worry.

“Do we have any sort of plan?” he asked when he finally retrieved his shoes from where they were still trapped in the rope.

“There seems to be a still rather solid door between us and ruining Rose's Christmas,” Phryne pointed out. Before either of them could voice any ideas on how to overcome their obstacle, a key was shoved into the lock and turned.

 


	31. Rogue Planet

Jack grabbed for one of the chairs and pulled Phryne, who had been busy fishing the lamp from the table, behind the door. A pained hiss reminded him that he had grabbed for the wrong arm. He gulped. Not the time for apologies!

The man poking his head through the gap, wasn't Rose. His eyes widened in shock at the lack of hostages, but he had barely time to pull a revolver before a hot lamp hit him squarely in the face and an angry knee buried itself into his groin with a sickening sound.

“Remind me to never get onto your bad side, Miss Fisher,” Jack whispered, when the man collapsed gurgling to the ground.

“I would have thought you'd learned that lesson a long time ago, Jack,” Phryne quipped, stepping over the groaning man, while Jack relieved him from his weapon before following his wife and her bad side into the hallway. He pulled the door shut behind them, turning the key.

“We won't have long until he gets a chance to raise the alarm,” Phryne concluded. Jack hummed approval, while inspecting the treasured weapon.

“There are only two shots left.”

“I shudder to think where the rest of them ended up,” she whispered. Following the wall, they snuck down a long, dark corridor.

“This place seems vaguely familiar,” Phryne stated, after they had turned a corner. There was no chance to dig deeper into that thought, however, as voices approached. Breathlessly the detectives ducked into the shadows.

“This imbecile of a judge. How dare he!”

It was Rose's voice, sounding quite upset, bordering on openly outraged. Phryne poked her face around the corner. A second man was whispering excitedly to his boss. The words were inaudible to their freed hostages.

“Get the men together, Gibson, we will head out at dawn,” Rose barked, brushing the man off. “But first, I am going to make sure that Robinson doesn't walk anywhere - ever again!”

He retrieved a familiar, golden pistol in the same moment that the Inspector pulled Phryne back into the darkness. Jacob Rose's heavy steps marched past them, down the hall to where they knew he would find nothing but a locked door and a cursing associate. The detectives locked gazes in the shadows. They had only minutes until their escape would be discovered. It was the wrong moment for any slip-ups. And just now Phryne's nose was tickling. She had almost forgotten about her sore throat in the whole drama and of course a runny nose had little impact while a madman shot at you, but Phryne could feel her nostrils getting ready for an outburst.

The man named Gibson still stood in the middle of the hall, fiddling with his revolver, which had, according to his cursing, something stuck. The Lady Detective scraped together all her will-power to not give them away, instead concentrating on her throbbing shoulder. But nevertheless she was losing the battle. Jack noticed her tense grima ce and drew the wrong conclusions. 

“You all right?”

His whisper was accompanied by a hot hand touching her face, trying to apprehend how bad her state was. Distracted for a brief moment, Phryne lost the fight. Her 'achoo' echoed off the walls. 

Gibson snapped shut the cylinder on his Webley and  wandered  towards the Detective's hiding place, his tense face belying the casual manner in which he approached. 

“Whose there?”

His steps came closer. Mrs. Robinson was pressing herself up against the wall, holding her breath.

“Just me, Gibson.”

Phryne's heart skipped a beat. That had been Jack's voice and a split second later, her husband stepped out into the dim light.

“Lil' Jacob said, you'd have work for me?” 

The man stared quizzically at Jack for a long moment, obviously wondering if he knew him. Phryne couldn't breath while she waited for him to see through the Inspector's bluff.

“What happened to your face?” he finally asked, inspecting the deep scratch on which there was still blood drying.

“That harlot we tied up before, woke up and hit me. Ring left a nasty mark,” Jack grumbled, doing his hardest to not think of who was listening. To his surprise, the man gave him a throaty laugh.

“Hope you broke her arm for that?”

“Lets say, she won't try that again in a hurry!” the Inspector stated with a pained grin.

“Good man,” Gibson smirked, patting him on the shoulder, “though you sneeze like a girl.”

He laughed again. Jack felt the urge to retch, but right now none of it mattered. If he listened carefully, he could just about hear the silent footsteps edge away.

“So, what's the orders then?” he asked.

Quiet cursing sounding up the hall, interrupted whatever Gibson had wanted to say, causing him to turn his head. Rose was returning! Jack's heart was beating in his throat, as he watched Phryne slip through the door at the other end of the narrow corridor, hopefully into freedom.

“The orders?” he asked again, snapping Gibson out of his thoughts. The man cleared his throat.

“Inform the guys, we are moving out at half past six. And get Wollert to park the cars at the back. I'll take care of the weapons.”

“Will do,” Jack lied, turning in the dim light and slipped through the closest door, just as Rose marched around the corner. Pulling the door shut behind himself, the DI leaned against the wall, catching his breath and wondering just how to find Phryne in this maze of corridors. Rose barked orders to search for the escaped hostages on the other side of the rescuing door. More voices had assembled in the hall by now.

“And when you find them, shoot them! Sanderson and Banks couldn't give a damn about them, they're worthless!”

Jack's hands clenched into fists beside his body as he stood in the darkness.

“Didn't ya say, ya wanna kill them slowly and painfully, boss?”

There was silence for a long moment, while the man who had spoken wondered if his mistake would cost him his life or only a sharp berating by his 'boss'. Then the insane giggle that Rose had demonstrated earlier, echoed through the basement.

“True.” His voice went through a sudden change which Jack also recognised, adopting an icy tone. “But the plan has changed. I won't, however, stop you from shooting them in any painful way you can think of.”

Uneasy laughter was the answer.   
“Why are you still standing here? Go! Find them!”

The men scrambled away and Jack tried to melt into the wall, as some stormed past him through the door with flickering lamps. He silently prayed that Phryne had found a save hiding place by now and wouldn't do anything silly.

Soon he was alone again. Feeling his way along the rough brick, he followed the shadows into the unknown. The Inspector was painfully aware that he needed to find his wife. Her injured shoulder would make it hard for her to fight and God only knew what the blood loss would do to her. As he shivered in the cold breeze rushing through the dark tunnel, the Inspector begged to any heavenly power listening, that he would reach her before anyone else did.

 

X

 

“So, what are we gonna do?” Cec asked the question everybody was thinking. Blurry eyes stared at him.

“I'm not certain what we can do,” Mr. Butler allowed himself to admit. “Trust my word, Cecil, I would not waste another minute, if I did.”

“We can't just sit here all night, doin' nothin',” Bert grumbled.

The women mumbled agreement.

“I am going to telephone the station and see if Hugh knows anything,” Dot explained, leaving.

Silence fell once again over the waiting, pondering people. Finally, Eddie rose.

“I'll have to go home and see if my daughter's asleep,” he said apologetically.

Bert opened his mouth to say something nasty, but Cec talked right over him.

“We'll drive you, mate. No problem.”

His friend glared at the man, but didn't say a word.

“I'll join you and see if I can find any hints at the cottage. I know the police have been searching, but they could have missed something,” Mac explained. “Knowing them they probably have,” she added grumpily.

Jane jumped to her feet.

“I'll come,” she explained eagerly, burning to leave the house.

“Do you think that's wise, Miss Jane?” Mr. Butler asked from where he was collecting dirty cups.

“I don't care for wise, Mr. B. We have to try at least, to find them,” Jane decided, already grabbing for her coat. It was quickly agreed upon that everybody was to join and so when Dorothy finally rang off, she was confronted with a group of already dressed people swarming the entrance hall. 

“Any news from the coppers?” Bert asked, before she had a chance to utter a word.

“Inspector Morgan is still interviewing the man they found at Gabler's,” Dot explained, looking embarrassed. “Hugh wasn't in, I only got a hold of Constable Jones. He said there was not a single man is at the Station but him and Inspector Morgan.”

“Useless crowd they are,” Bert mumbled, happy to have his prejudice confirmed. But even he was worried.

“They are probably out there looking,” Dot protested weakly. Hugh wouldn't let his beloved Inspector down. Impossible. But what could he be doing? Did they have a lead that Jones had neglected to tell her about? Mrs. Collins inspected her watch, a Christmas present from Miss Fisher, and yawned. It was almost three in the morning and she could feel the long day in every fibre of her body. She imagined that even her baby was tired.

'I'm sorry, little one, but this is important. I can not explain to you just how important it is,' she thought really hard, hoping to find a telepathic connection with her bub. Mr. Butler helped her into her coat, and they stepped out into the night.

“Shouldn't somebody stay to wait by the telephone or something?” she asked, just when she was about to lock the door behind them.

“Whose gonna phone then?” Bert asked, turning increasingly grumpy, as he usually did when he had been up for too long. An elbow hit him between the ribs.

“I gather it is unlikely that the Robinsons are going to telephone us from captivity,” Mr. Butler stated calmly, turning the key. “And the kidnappers have already stated their request to the police.”

“Can we get on our way now? Preferably before I freeze to death,” Mac yawned, wrapping her coat tighter around herself.

Dot glanced at Jane, suppressing the urge to ask her to stay and go to bed. Of course she wouldn't. She was Mrs. Phryne's daughter after all.

“Of course,” she finally said, locking eyes with Mr. Butler, who laid a calming hand on her shoulder. Everything would be fine, it said. Mr. Butler's fingers had never before been this bad at lying.

 

X

 

Phryne stumbled half-blind through the darkness. Where was Jack? She hadn't heard him follow her, only Rose 's cursing and screaming outside in the hall. But at least he hadn't sounded like he had recaptured her husband. What a stupid  move of Jack to just walk out and start talking! She had wanted to kill him for so much bold dumbness - or even rather Gibson. At least hit him over the head with something hard and heavy. Admittedly, he had been holding on to a weapon and there hadn't been much to hit him with. 

But Phryne refused to let reason deter her rage at Jack.  Nevertheless, she had obeyed the handsigns behind his back to disappear, while  he'd been distracting their opponent. Like a good little wife  in dire need of his protection, she'd succumbed to his wishes. 

Panting, Phryne stopped, leaning against the wall and holding her  burning shoulder. All right, maybe she wasn 't in best fighting condition. But that didn't give Jack any right to just decide that his life was meaningless. Rose had almost caught him and what that meant, she knew much better than she had any desire to. The man wouldn't even hesitate. He considered Inspector Robinson the murderer of his sister and therefore he deserved no mercy in his eyes. Phryne could almost understand that. Almost. If it hadn't been for the fact that Elaine had tried to kill Jack first! And almost succeeded! 

There were the sounds of heavy boots on floorboards somewhere nearby, the idea of a light flickering in the distance. Here, the darkness was so dense that there wasn't even room for shadows. Phryne closed her eyes and listened to the rhythm of the feet. They weren 't Jack's. Which meant that she'd have to leave. Peeling her hand, sticky with warm fluids, from her shoulder, Phryne stumbled again into the blackness, hoping that she didn't walk in circles. She cursed when her toes hit something hard. Breathlessly she halted, listened. But nobody seemed to have witnessed her angry outburst. Carefully she felt towards the offending step. It was the bottom of a flight of stairs, her wandering hands confirmed as they found a railing. Leaving a trail of blood behind, Phryne Robinson climbed out of the basement and into an unknown future. 

 


	32. Aurora

Edward Wenbrock approached his cottage with a burden of guilt on his heart. He shouldn't let Phryne and Jack down, his twisting stomach told him. But he also had a responsibility to his family. His mother's eyesight had worsened over the last few months and his daughter had always been a rather difficult child. To his utter worry, there was still a light burning in the kitchen and he dreaded the pending argument with the old woman, by this time probably sick of worry and angry for having been left alone with an inconsolable toddler all night.

When he stepped lightly, quietly into the kitchen, the sight that met him caused his heart to skip a beat. There, at the kitchen table sat a woman, but not the one he had expected. Ash blonde hair fell in cascades onto the table, the sleeping face turned away from him. But he didn't have to see it. He knew who she was and he wasn't quite certain if he was dreaming or waking. Carefully, silently wandering around the table, he inspected her features nevertheless. Natalija was far off, her cheek pressed onto the book she had been reading. A thin thread of spit had dribbled from the corner of her mouth. By right he should have been disgusted – he wasn't certain if he had ever seen anything more heart warming.

Eddie sat down, wondering about his next step. Should he wake her? Let her sleep? He knew what he wanted to do, but that was certainly not an option. He could feel his heart pounding against his ribcage as he watched her. As if she had felt his stare, she slowly opened her eyes. Looked at him. Smiled.

Then her expression changed, as she sat up in utter astonishment. She glanced down at the book, then back at him.

“Dear God, what time is it?”

“'Bout 4 o'clock,” Eddie stated mechanically, without tearing his eyes from her. He wasn't sure if she was more shocked than him or less. Natalija rubbed her eyes.

“I must have fall'n asleep. Your mother ask'd me to come over. Daisy just wouldn't stop cryin'.” 

Eddie nodded, unable to not notice the sleepy quality of her voice that caused his heart to ache with longing.

“Where were you?” she suddenly asked. He snapped out of his nightly daydream, to the bitter reality. He had almost forgotten about his friends in mortal danger. Guilt re-announced itself as he rubbed his tired face with both palms.

“That's a long story.”

There was silence. To his disappointment, Natalija got to her feet. She looked defeated.

“Right you are. None of my business.”

She turned, ready to leave, when Eddie jumped up so fast that his chair tumbled. The sound of wood hitting the floor was incredibly loud in the small kitchen.  Both stared at each other, then the bedroom door to see if they had woken the girl. But nothing happened. After a moment of silence, Natalija nodded, laying her hand onto the doorknob. 

“Wait... please.”

Eddie gulped. He didn't really know how to explain it. “Jack and... his wife. Look, it's a really long story, but Little Jacob's holding them hostage.”

There were wheels spinning visibly in Natalija's head. She tried to say something, then changed her mind. Finally she tried again.

“What are ya talking about?”

“Look, they're detectives. You remember those two people that were fighting the Brownings last year? We talked 'bout them, back then. I told ya that I knew the girl when she was a kid?” 

Natalija nodded slowly.

“Well they were them.”

When Eddie still didn't receive the reaction he was hoping for, he tried again.

“I recognised her when I first met 'Fanny Turner', straight away.”

“So you knew Fanny Turner?” Natalija asked.

“Phryne Fisher,” he corrected. 

“Ya didn't say a word,” she pointed out, her voice coloured with bitterness. Eddie felt like he was losing ground. 

“I couldn't. Didn't want to get them into trouble. Thing is, they managed it themselves. Lil Jacob has promised to kill them.”

To his relieve, Natalija forgot about being offended by his silence in favour of worry.

“He can't!” 

“He will,” Eddie said bitterly. “Ya know what they whisper 'bout him. He's insane. And I've read the ransom note. He'll shoot them by sunrise, if they don't release his sister from gaol and the Commissioner doesn't even think about that.”

Thunderclouds appeared on Natalija's face but the outburst Edward expected, didn't happen. Instead she turned back to the door.

“So, why are we still here, chattering? We need to go search for them!” 

Wenbrock caught her arm, spinning her.

“Let go, Eddie! They're our friends,” she protested angrily, trying to ignore that his brown eyes were closer than they had ever been before. Natalija glittered at her old friend, waiting for a chance to defy him. But Eddie just looked at her searchingly, questioningly.

“I need to know,” he finally mumbled. “Do ya love 'im?”

Natalija's expression changed.

“Whom?”

“Jack! Do you love him?”

She ripped herself away from his grip.

“Oh, don't be so daft, Eddie!”

He shook his head. Slowly.

“I just need to know if I'm goin' out there to save the man ya love, Nat. Cause then I'll do anything to save him... even if it'd break my heart.”

The last words had been hardly audible, but neither of the two people in the small kitchen were able to pretend they hadn 't been spoken. The young woman stared at her friend in silence, then  she  lifted her hand and touched his tired face. Eddie felt the urge to retreat. He didn't want her comfort, only the truth. Jack Robinson might be married, but he obviously cared for Natalija – maybe enough for a young woman to misunderstand.

The urge to disappear and drown his embarrassment somewhere in cheap liquor became more overwhelming in Eddie with every second Natalija looked up at him, reading his face like a book. But instead, he just stared, unblinking, stubborn and defiant.

“I've seen ya two behind that church. It was impos-”

The sentence found an untimely end in a pair of lips closing his mouth. It was stupid to do this, Eddie told himself sternly, nothing had changed. They needed to stop, right this minute. Yet, his arms had different plans as they wrapped around her slim frame, his eyes fluttering shut in surrender. 'We'll figure somethin' out,' a clear voice pointed out. He was tempted to believe it.

Then all coherent thought drowned in the sensation of holding her close. It seemed like hours had passed when they separated, barely.

“That enough answer for ya?” Natalija asked.

Eddie gulped, gently retreating from her grasp. There were more questions on his mind than ever before, but right now, none of them mattered much in light of the fact that their friends were to die. And that he had just found out something so mind blowing that his body was tingling from head to toe. He nodded.

“Plenty of answer,” he croaked, when she didn't seem satisfied.

“Right, then we go now and find the Turners!”

“Robinsons,” he corrected weakly.

“Doesn't matter,” Natalija said, slipping into her coat. 

And really, it didn't matter at all.

 

 

X

 

 

Jack was panting heavily by the time he reached the top of the stairs. Climbing them had been quite a risk. The narrow steps spiralling up into the floors above, was surrounded by strong walls on both sides. Had one of Rose's men decided to come in the opposite direction, a confrontation would have been unavoidable. And Jack wasn't sure if he could currently survive fighting a man. He was quite certain that his fever had worsened over the last hour stumbling through the dark, probably owned to the chilly, damp quality of the basement he had now finally escaped.

But there was still no trace of his wife and that was what convinced him to push forward. Maybe he shouldn't have left the basement behind, Jack wondered dimly in his cotton wool-stuffed head and instead kept searching for her. But logic commanded that Phryne would, just like him, search for an exit and that was likelier found upstairs. So, when he had stumbled across the steep servant stairs, he hadn't hesitated, even though climbing them had been a bigger feat than his exhausted body had taken kindly to.

Now stumbling down another narrow corridor, his hand found a door handle. It lead the Inspector into an empty room, smelling faintly of dust.

A big, honey coloured moon looked back at the Inspector through a small window. Jack dropped heavily onto the edge of one of the two beds lining the walls. Seeing the sky seemed currently like an amazing feat after the long time between brick and mould.

The disturbed dust invaded Jack's lungs, causing him to cough. His throat felt raw. The bed, dusty and narrow as it may be, was luring the Inspector into it's comfortable layers. Just lay his burning head onto a cool pillow, close his eyes for a few minutes, rest. Surely he would be in a better state if he could just stop for a little while. The last time he'd slept seemed an eternity away. Nobody would look for him here and even if they found him, what did it matter?

But Phryne! She was still out there. There was no rest until she was safely in Mac's hands. Jack pushed himself onto his wobbly legs and made his way back out into the hallway, throwing a last longing glance at the moon that was looking after him with a kind, pale smile.

 

X

 

Mac was crouching on the bedroom floor between the shards of broken glass. Mr. Butler pressed his lips together, as he was holding the lamp for her. He couldn't remember ever having seen  Doctor  Mac Millan lose her state of total control. Right now, she appeared to be on the verge of bursting into tears at any given moment. Then the emotions on her face disappeared as quickly as they had come. 

“It looks like there has been a struggle,” she concluded, pushing back to her feet and letting her eyes sweep over the messy bedroom, the tangled sheets and a tipped over chair that had fallen victim to Phryne's brief spell of rage at the recklessness of her husband.

“It certainly does, Doctor,” Mr. Butler agreed, still staring at the leftovers of a broken lamp strewn across the small bedroom floor. “But then Mr. Wenbrock said that Mrs. Robinson left to search for her husband.”

Mac turned, looking pale and worn.

“Maybe he was wrong and they returned here. Jack might have been sharing a harmless drink with his co-workers after all.”

“With all due respect, Doctor. How did their kidnappers get a hold of the other man, if that was the case?”

The knock at the door was loud and shook not only the two people in the bedroom from their conversation but also the four currently sifting through the equally messy kitchen. Finally, Bert went and ripped open the door. The woman standing on the porch smiled.

“Have you found anythin'?” she asked, without introducing herself and pushed past him into the kitchen. The man behind her greeted Bert by a tip to the hat, the Cabbie grunting in response.

“This is Miss Natalija Nowak. A friend of Jack and Phryne's. She was taking care of my child, while I was out,” Eddie explained, the faint blush spreading over his cheeks not going amiss on the people collected in the room. Despite the grim situation, Jane smiled.

“A friend, ey? Known them long then?” Bert grumbled, closing the door that was letting in the chill of the early morning.

“They saved my life,” Natalija answered calmly. “I would say that qualifies as a friendly gesture.”

“It certainly does, Miss,” Mr. Butler smiled. “Would you happen to be able to provide any information on their disappearance?”

To their disappointment, Natalija shook her head.

“Afraid not. But we do know who Jack was drinkin' with, so I thought we'd go and knock them out of their beds and ask if any of them has seen or heard somethin'.”

There was silence for a long moment, while they contemplated this. Cromms was still held by the police in the hope that he could provide them with something. But there could be someone else who had witnessed what had happened.

“We are running out of time,” Dot said after a pause. “We might as well try anything we can.”

There was murmuring, but nobody had a better idea.

“Let's go then,” Jane urged, when nobody moved. Just as they stepped out into the dark street, a figure rushed towards them, holding an oil lamp in front of her dressing gown. Her hair wrapped up onto curlers, Adelheid Willis made for a strange ghost.

“What's going on?” she demanded to know. “Who are you people?” She finally found a face she recognised amidst the strangers. “Nat, where are the Turners? I said to Terry that things aren't right, but he just turned and went back to sleep. Terrible neighbour he is. What's going on?”

Natalija looked at Eddie, who shrugged.

“The Turners have been kidnapped, Adelheid. By Little Jacob's men it seems.”

For the first time in their long acquaintance, Mrs. Willis seemed speechless, her pretty mouth standing wide open, as she looked from one of the grim faces to the next.

“But... how. Why? I mean, they are nice people, the Turners. Haven't been here long. I couldn't think what grudge he could have against them-”

“It seems,” Eddie cut in, before she could go on any further, “that Jack Robinson is a police officer who was investigating the Grog Business together with his Detective wife. I wouldn't be surprised if the police wants to have a word with yer husband, Adelheid.”

Mrs. Willis just stared at him, in a spell of fascinated silence.

“Do ya know anything that can help us find them?” Natalija asked more sharply than the stunned woman deserved.

“Jack Robinson?” she finally asked faintly. “Jack Robinson, the policeman?”

A slim hand came up to cover her mouth, but nobody was paying much attention to her, as a black car sped down the street, halting at the next door. Out jumped a handful of officers in dark uniforms, beating at the door to the Carter-Cottage. An angry Maggy appeared a moment later.

“Would you mind? My children are asleep!” she hissed.

“I'm sorry ma'am, but we will have to take you to the station.”

“I already told you that my husband did not come home from work tonight.”

“We will convince ourselves of this, Ma'am,” the young man in uniform said, pushing past the protesting woman. A small child ran towards them in her nightdress, flinging herself on her mother.

“It's alright, love. The men are just looking for your father,” Margaret Carter explained to her daughter, while shooting an icy glance at one of the policemen.

“Would you mind explaining just what you are doing?” a voice behind the young man said, causing him to flinch. He turned, staring at an angry Dot.

“Mrs. Collins?!” the officer stuttered.

“There are small children in this house. Surely there is no need to scare them, Constable Brink!”

The man dropped his head as if he had been scolded by his mother.

“We are looking for the Robinsons,” he finally explained. “The Commissioner believes that Mrs. Carter might have more information than she has shared earlier.”

“That is all very well, but there is a way to do things. Terrorising a family is not part of an investigation,” Dot insisted. “Now, I will bring the children back to bed and you can talk to Mrs. Carter. In her kitchen will be sufficient, I am sure!”

With that, she took the  girl's hand and lead her into the house. Two stunned police officers followed. 

Outside, the collected people looked at each other.

“Poor Mags, I better go look after her. And the girls. Dear God,” mumbled Adelheid, still in obvious shock that didn't hinder her curiosity in the slightest and wandered off in the direction of the neighbouring cottage. 

“I believe, Dorothy has decided to stay behind,” Mr. Butler said into the resulting silence. “We had better go question the Inspector's co-workers.” 

“I don't think that will be necessary,” a voice stated behind him. Mac had, unnoticed by the others, slipped over to chat with one of the police officers. “The man they found has given Sanderson a list of everybody he remembers to have been at the pub last night and there is officers currently drumming every one of them out of bed.” 

She gave the collected people a brief recount of the rest of what Oliver Cromms had told the police.

“Carter must have drugged Jack's beer, which is why he had such an easy time to knock him out in the end. Cromms put up a bit more of a struggle, but they were two against one. He doesn't remember much between then and Gabler's basement,” she finished. “But there was no Jack. They must have brought him and Phryne somewhere else entirely.”

“It almost appears as if Mr. Cromms was always intended for the Commissioner to find,” Mr. Butler thought aloud.

“So Rose took him only to deliver the message?” Jane asked. 

“Explains why he tied him up like a package,” Bert grumbled. “Now, where are we goin'?”

“Wherever it is, we'd better hurry,” Natalija cut in for the first time. Unnoticed by the rest, Eddie took her hand, and squeezed it gently. He had seen it too. There was a faint hint of light at the horizon. The morning was coming.


	33. Vacuum

Phryne Robinson was annoyed. At the lights that regularly flashed past her numerous hiding places, held in angry hands whose owners became louder and more frantic, the less they were able to find her or, from what she could gather, Jack. But even more frustrating she found the darkness that swallowed everything, as soon as the lamps disappeared. She was also enraged with Rose, with Jack and increasingly with her burning shoulder. The bleeding had subsided somewhat, but that didn't stop her from feeling light headed and not quite right. The pain was bearable the Detective found, but she had a niggling suspicion that that might change as soon as her body ran out of adrenaline. There was exhaustion lurking like a big, black, gaping hole in the ground. Eventually, she would stumble into it and if she didn't manage to get out of this maze in time, she would die. This realisation wasn't an overly comforting one.

Their prison had turned out to be a huge mansion rather than the factory hall she had expected. Room after room, convoluted like a Russian nesting doll. The whole place had the feel of a big, abandoned doll house actually. The thought made Phryne shudder. Pushing on, she reached another door, stumbled into another darkness. There were voices in the distance, flickering lights. They were always just far enough so she could hide. But it got harder. Phryne was gradually running out of breath and the strength to stay on her feet.

This darkness turned out to be a sitting room, smelling of dust like everything else. A perfectly shaped love seat in front of a cold fire place glinted in the faint moonlight. Phryne stepped to the big window, deciding to have a look outside. If she could figure out where she was, she might be able to spot an exit. But what would she do if she found one, she wondered? She couldn't leave without Jack even though it might make more sense to try and raise the alarm. The thought of abandon her husband while attempting to find a phone somewhere, convince people to come and rescue him, seemed suffocating. If she could get...

Phryne's breath caught momentarily. Somewhere further down, the Yarra curled through the landscape like a massive silver band, its waves glistening in the moonlight. But the beauty of the nightly scene wasn't what caused Mrs. Robinson to halt in the middle of her thoughts.

She suddenly she knew exactly where they were. What had been lurking in her mind just underneath her conscience, became certainty. She had been here before. The Detective twirled on her heels, rushing towards the door. She needed to leave and now! She would drum the whole city out of their beds if necessary!

She didn't get very far with her plan a voices appeared out of nowhere. Phryne stopped in the middle of the room, looking for a hiding place. The door flew open, letting in a thin ray of light that cut through the darkness like a knife through warm butter. Phryne retreated from the two loudly talking figures who appeared in the opening, towards the darker end of the room, when suddenly a hand clamped over her mouth from behind, and a pair of strong arms pulled her backwards, just in time to avoid a flash of light veering in their direction. The Detective swallowed down a scream, instead struggling silently against the man holding her. There was some indistinct mumbling beside her ear that died abruptly when her elbow found a soft target. Despite the man gasping in pain, he didn't release her. Panicking, Phryne tried to free herself, feeling just how weak her limbs had grown, while the circles of light came closer. Any moment the other men would discover her and then she stood no chance. Instead, however, she found herself being shoved into a cabinet. She wasn't alone in the darkness and her  brain's furious announcement finally cut through the adrenaline. The feel of the hands still keeping her mouth shut and her chest clamped against a hot body, was as familiar as his scent and the heavy breathing in her neck. Phryne allowed herself to relax. Finally, the men seemed satisfied that they weren't here and Jack's grip loosened. 

“You've got quite sharp elbows, Miss Fisher,” he whispered, when she spun, seemingly infuriated with his attack. As if he wasn't well aware that she had thought him to be one of her pursuers, his aching stomach made a point of reminding him. But instead of the expected fury, he found a pair of desperate lips attached to his own and allowed himself to wrap his wife in his arms and finally ride the wave of relief that had flooded his veins, ever since he had spotted her silhouette against the dark window. 

Phryne retreated after a few moments, finally remembering to be angry.

“Where the hell have you been?” she whispered.

Jack stroked her face before he answered, worrying about how cool her skin was. Even though he wasn't quite certain if his fever was playing tricks on him. He also had a suspicion that he had passed out for a minute or two between leaning against a cold wall and Phryne suddenly appearing like a moon goddess with incredibly good aim in her elbows.

“I don't know about you, Miss Fisher, but I have been stumbling around in the dark, looking for you,” he finally returned.

“You didn't have to lose me in the first place!” she hissed. “That was a really reckless thing of you to do, Jack.” 

“I am glad you recognised the importance of that little charade, Miss Fisher” the Inspector returned smoothly. “How is your shoulder?” 

Phryne gently patted the offending body part, causing a flash of sharp pain to shoot along her arm.

“Infuriatingly painful,” she ground out. “But I'll live.”

“Glad to hear it,” Jack quipped, hiding his deep concern rather badly. With some care he opened the cabinet door, glancing outside into the dark sitting room. 

“We probably should try and find an exit, it can't be too far.” 

“I fear Rose is insane but not a complete imbecile,” Phryne stated, holding onto Jack a little more than she liked. The struggle had intensified her pain, but she wouldn't tell him that. What was harder to hide was the fact that now she had found him, she felt her last strength draining away, as if her body refused to push itself any further after reaching his safe arms. Of course, they weren't safe at all right now, but her protest did little to convince her leaden limbs of that. 

“Would you like to clarify this statement, Miss Fisher?” Jack asked, seemingly oblivious to how heavily she was leaning on him. 

“His men may not be particularly thorough in searching the premises, but surely he would have them heavily guard all the exits. It would be very silly to neglect such a great chance at recapturing us,” Phryne explained, sensing that her eyelids were falling shut. 

“I fear, you are right,” Jack admitted, after a long moment of silence. Gently peeling her off his arm, he closed the door again, and guided her to sit on the floor. Phryne winced as her shoulder bumped against the wood, but couldn't help the relief of being allowed some rest. 

“What are you doing, Jack?” she protested for good measure.

“We will have to wait,” he said, slipping down beside her and wrapping his jacket around her shoulders. His skin was burning through the layers of clothes, warming her. “Rose is intending to leave with his men at dawn, for whatever reason. Which means he will probably only retain a few guards.”

Jack stifled a cough as he spoke and Phryne let her head loll against the wooden cabinet wall. She could feel that his fever had risen, possibly to dangerous heights and her throbbing wound was too raw by now to even move her left arm. How they would get even past a few guards was beyond her imagination. If Little Jacob indeed would leave while there were still hostages running around. With the morning they would also lose the protection of the darkness that had saved them more often than she dared to remember tonight. But then, Jack's logic was compelling and the prospect of currently not having to move was too tempting to refuse his wishes.

 

X

 

If they had expected the “Glasshouse” to lie in total darkness, they had been mistaken. The street was illuminated by lamps, police officers were searching every centimeter of the area for hints.

“I fear we might be wasting our time by coming here,” Mac stated quietly. Natalija nodded. The problem was that neither had any better ideas where to go. Sanderson was indeed covering everything, which should have made Mac feel better. But instead it left her feeling impotent and useless. The hint of light at the horizon was turning brighter. Soon, the sun would rise from it's bed behind the darkness and scare the moon away.

“Hugh?”

Jane approached one of the uniformed men who were crawling around on the street near the back doors. The Constable's sweaty face turned his attention to the teenager, before he dragged himself into an upright position.

“Jane? What are you doing here?”

“We came to help,” the girl explained, waving at the group of friends, standing silently in the half-light.

“We have plenty of men on the job, turning every stone,” Hugh explained, waving a hand in the air. Something fluttered in the wind.

“What's that?” Jane asked, grasping for his wrist.

“That eh...” Hugh stared at the formerly white handkerchief, as if he had never seen it before. “I think it belongs to Mrs. Robinson,” he finally admitted, allowing the teenager to take the dirty piece of cloth from his fingers. She looked at it for a long moment.

“I'm sorry, Jane,” he said quietly. “I know how you feel, but-”

“How on earth could you know how I feel?”

Hugh looked at her in shock, then his eyes darted towards Mr. Butler, who was approaching at the outburst of his ward.

“I think you are being quite unfair,” the Constable said stiffly, taking the piece of evidence back from her.

Deep down, Jane knew that he was right. Yelling at Hugh wouldn't bring her parents back. Nevertheless she felt the urge to scream at the whole world for being so terribly unjust.

“Sorry,” she said quietly, just when Mr. Butler arrived, laying a warm hand onto her shoulder. “But how can we find them, when there is nothing to go on?”

Angrily, she kicked against one of the bins. The metal sound was quite satisfying for a brief moment and made the pain in her toes worth it.

“We had nothing when the Inspector disappeared last year. But we still found him,” Hugh said, sharing a look with Mr. Butler. It had been Miss Fisher doing most of the finding, they both were well aware. And DI Robinson had still barely made it. Neither of them realised that Jane had frozen on the spot.

“That's it!” she exclaimed. “Jack was held captive in Mrs. Browning's house, wasn't he?”

“In the servant quarter as I recall...” Mr. Butler tore his attention away from the Constable and returned it to Jane, who seemed to suddenly glow with excitement. “Miss Jane?”

“Lucy! Don't you understand? She returned to her former home.”

The coin flew through the air, slowly spinning, turning, falling. Then the penny dropped.

“To the cars!” Hugh heard himself yell, before his brain had caught up. “We know where they are!”

 

X

 

It was impossible to say if Phryne was sleeping or just being quiet. The time implied that he had dozed off himself for a while. Jack didn't dare to move in fear of waking his wife, but his aching arm had gone to sleep. The darkness around them was thick, impenetrable. Phryne moaned quietly. She had to be in pain. Jack clenched his jaw and shifted his arm enough to bring it nastily stinging back to life. He was hot, his raw throat dry and longing for water.

It was all so familiar. The desperation, the fear. It seemed a lifetime ago now. Jack hadn't been able to sleep and instead tried to make his way to City South, only to never arrive there - shot down in the street by a criminal who considered him too nosy.

19 long hours Jack had been convinced that he would never leave th e dark, clammy basement  in Elaine  Browning's house again. It had been obvious that his captors weren't overly interested in keeping him alive and the gaping hole in his abdomen had made it unlikely that he could survive, as did the infection that had soon caused him to slip into feverish dreams. Until Miss Fisher had burst through the door, with cool hands and worry edged on her beautiful features, intent on saving him. 

Jack glanced at Phryne's unmoving frame. He hadn't dared asking what she had gone through during the desperate search for him but to this day she had never teased him with the story, no flippant comment had ever left her lips. Which was probably the strongest statement, Miss Fisher was capable of. Gently Jack ran his palm over his wife's cheek. Her skin was cool against his hot fingers. She was here, it made the torture of this place bearable. But her life was in danger and he couldn't manage to shake the fear pulsating through his veins. He would get her out of here, no matter the cost.

Phryne stirred, feeling her husband shivering against her. Carefully, Jack wrapped his arms more tightly around her, as if looking for her warmth. She knew that she had none to give, but he was burning up as it was.

“I'm sorry for dragging you into this mess, Miss Fisher,” he whispered beside her, leaning his cheek against her healthy shoulder. With some effort, Phryne pried open an eye.

“What are you on about, Jack?”

He retreated a little, as if he was surprised at her replying.

“I've been behaving like a Constable, still green behind the ears,” the Inspector admitted after a long pause. “I should have been much more suspicious of Carter.”

“You and me both.”

Phryne winced, when she shifted into a more comfortable position that was, however, protested by her wound. There was silence.

“Rose is convinced that I am murdering his sister,” Jack finally said.

“We have established Little Jacob's insanity earlier,” his wife replied, suppressing a yawn. Sitting down had had exactly the effect she'd anticipated. It had caused her to slip into a state of mind-numbing fatigue. 

“So we have,” the Inspector answered thoughtfully. The edge in his voice startled Phryne awake. 

“Jack, please tell me you do not actually believe you are responsible for being kidnapped?” 

“Certainly not.”

“So, what is this about then?”

There was no answer for a long moment.

“He didn't just set me captive, Phryne. Rose made very clear that this wasn't a kidnapping. It was to be my punishment.”

His wife said nothing. There were no words. Jack just continued, as if he needed to  speak now  in order to chase the shadows away that threatened to swallow him. 

“He is aware that the worst he could do to me was bring me back here, into my nightmare. And the only way to possibly make it any more horrendous would be by him killing you. He doesn't care about you, Phryne. He shot you, just so I could witness it.” 

The Inspector was panting heavily when he trailed off, wondering if he had overstepped a line.  Surrendering to a coughing attack, he w aited for Phryne's reaction. He was suddenly painfully aware why they had never talked about his kidnapping in the first place. It was still an open wound, one that hadn't healed with the rest of them. And the Inspector would have been quite happy to never bother Phryne with those memories again. Rose had  succes sfully spoiled that plan. 

“I actually feel rather grateful that he brought me along for the ride,” she quipped into his thoughts, sounding tired. Jack shook his head slowly, unable to grasp her meaning. Maybe the fever was messing with his mind as well. Cold fingers wrapped around his.

“As much as I hate this place, Jack, I'd rather be here than out there searching for you.” 

Her husband gulped.

“Not knowing where you were, was the most agonising part.” she whispered, unable to hide the traitorous roughness of her voice. “Thinking every time the phone rang that someone had finally fished you out of the Yarra.”

Jack brought her hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to it. A hot drop hit ting her skin,  woke in Phryne the suspicion that he might be crying. But even though it tightened her throat to  witness his pain, she suddenly felt she had to share what hadn't left her mind in hours. 

“And then the waiting for you to wake up. I didn't dare leave your side, lest you might sneak away while I didn't pay attention.” 

She tried a pained smile that disappeared in the darkness. Jack didn't answer for a long time, trying to get a grip on his emotions. It wasn't really new information for him - Mac had felt the need to inform him of Phryne's reluctance to even eat or sleep while he had battled for his life. Yet, hearing it from his wife was different.

“I wasn't quite conscious for much of the time in that chair,” he finally explained quietly, “but I do remember dreaming of you. You were quite annoyingly demanded that I carry on living.”

Phryne swallowed down the lump in her throat.

“And you obeyed? I had taken you for more of a rebel, Inspector.”

“As it turns out, my rebellious streak is scared of dark, damp basements,” Jack smiled. “And it also insisted that you would solve the puzzle.”

They gazed at each other in the blueish dark, both grinning. Phryne wrapped her fingers tighter around Jack's. For a long moment they were both busy with their own thoughts.

“You know, I have always been a little envious of Miss Walters,” Phryne stated casually. “She did get to save your life, while I was busy turning stones,” she explained, when he just stayed in stunned silence. She wasn't going to explicate this further or tell him that she had never been able to shake off the guilt about having riffled blindly through case folders, while he had been bleeding out onto a basement floor. His silence told her that he was listening to everything that she'd left unsaid.

“Trust me, Miss Fisher, it wasn't that much of a party,” he finally grinned, entwining their fingers so tightly that it was questionable if they would ever come apart again. Sweat slicked their palms and Phryne battled down the urge to retrieve her hand and feel his forehead. Even knowing how high his fever was, couldn't exactly change anything.

“Either way, Inspector, if you do insist on going through hell, I'd rather walk with you,” she said instead. It had been meant as a flippant comment, but came out completely serious. Jack glanced at her.

“I can imagine even demons being frightened of you, Miss Fisher,” he joked, then leaned back against the wall without letting go of her. His mind was spinning with thoughts, but it also was so fuzzy that he could barely think straight.

“Right now, I fear,” Phryne groaned, while he felt her shifting, “I can't be much of a threat even to mere mortals.”

Jack carefully pulled her closer, suffocating a cough in his throat before it could threaten to give them away. His burning body may as well keep her warm, he decided, while it wasn't doing much good to himself. Straining his eyes, the Inspector managed to make out the hands on his watch. It was past  six . Another half hour and they should be able to leave their hiding place and try to battle their way out. How they would do this, he had no idea. But something told him that they would manage. 


	34. Nebula

Groaning, Sanderson flipped through the folder again.

“Easton?” he called. Seconds later, the skinny man appeared in the door to his office.

“Sir?”

“Have you found anything of interest?”

“I'm afraid, I haven't, Sir. Jacob Rose doesn't seem to have made much of an impact in Melbourne as of yet. One of our informants is of the opinion that he has only returned from the continent after his sister was convicted. He is also of the opinion that I am insane for waking him at six in the morning to ask him those questions.” 

Sanderson stared at the completely serious face for a long moment, wondering if there had been a joke involved. He wasn't entirely sure if Easton was capable of humour. The remainder of words dripped into his tired mind slowly.

“Only a few months then. It would take plenty of influence and money to establish an operation like the one we found at Gabler's,” he sighed, taking his glasses off. 

“I would have to agree, Sir.”

“Yet, he seems not particularly worried about us discovering his sly-grog production. In fact, his letter on Mr. Cromms seems to suggests that he has been counting on it.”

“Are you implying that Mr. Rose has built a trap for the Inspector?”

Sanderson closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose in silence. The clerk watched on. He knew his employer well.

“The thought had crossed my mind, Mr. Easton. But then again, I'm certain that there are easier ways to accomplish the Inspector's imprisonment than luring him to Collingwood and allowing him to discover a grog production of this scale. Also, Mr. Rose couldn't have known that I would send Inspector Robinson and his wife of all people.”

“Of course not,” Jerrod Easton agreed. “We would certainly be overestimating his capability for elaborate planning, Sir. It seems much more likely that he realised the Robinsons were on his heels and decided to turn the tables.”

Sanderson nodded slowly, returning his glasses to their place.

“Even though the disappearance of Mr. Carter and the recollection of events we have heard from the witnesses, seem to shed a different light on things.”

He stared at Easton for a long moment.

“Do you believe that Michael Carter is indeed working for Rose?” he asked his Assistant. The clerk thought about this for a long moment.

“I can't say I do, Sir. He always has demonstrated integrity and loyalty in the past. But then, it is impossible to tell if you can trust someone, isn't it?”

“Indeed it is, Mr. Easton. Indeed it is.”

Sanderson dismissed his clerk and returned to flicking through paperwork, without really taking anything in. He was not quite certain how to play this. There was indeed not much interesting information out there on Mr. Rose and with every minute going by, the chances grew slimmer that they could find Jack and his Miss Fisher alive.

George knew that he was standing by his word, every man he had at his disposal was turning Collingwood upside down, interviewing potential witnesses, searching empty houses and factory halls. Yet, he still wasn't sure if he had made the right call. Only time would show. He stared at his phone, willing it to ring. Resisting the urge to once again telephone City South where Morgan was coordinating the flow of news and men alike, he sighed and returned to his paperwork. Just when he flicked open another file, shrill ringing sounded through the barely lit office.

 

X

 

They heard the cars. It was  gone half past six, when th e first motor was started. Others joined in. There was yelling in the yard, heavy boots on the ground. It had to be at least 20 people down there, Jack contemplated. Finally the last of the motors roared and and vanished into the distance, taking all the voices with it. The Inspector attempted to drag himself to his feet, suppressing a cough. A hand grasped for his arm. 

“Wait,” Phryne whispered. Jack nodded, letting himself sink back onto the floor. She was right. They shouldn't rush this, even though he wanted nothing else. His chest hurt as another cough shook him. In the darkness he pulled the revolver from his pocket. It was heavier than his pistol and felt incredibly cold in his palm. Two bullets. 

He didn't want to shoot anyone. Of course, he had killed before. In the War. Occasionally during his time with the police force. There were situations when you had no choice. Jack dreaded them nevertheless. The moment when you realised that you had taken a life. No way back.

There was also a more practical side to it. A shot was sure to raise the alarm. Which meant that they had no time to lose, the instance they were confronted with a guard. Jack would have preferred to deal with Rose's men any other way, but he could barely stand straight and Phryne... he didn't want to think about his wife's state. They needed to get to freedom and fast. With some resolve, Jack closed the cylinder, inspected his watch again. 6.50. It was time.

Carefully, he pushed the cabinet door open, and spied out into the quiet sitting room. Twilight was seeping through the large window, dipping everything into it's blue. He turned, realising with a lurch of his stomach that Phryne's left shoulder was drenched in drying blood. Remembering to draw air into his stinging lungs, Jack stretched out his hand and helped her up; buried his fingers into the wood to keep them both stable. In unusual silence, his wife obeyed. A pained groan escaped her lips as he helped her out of the cabinet.

“We'll be home soon,” Jack smiled thinly and kissed her clammy forehead.

“Are you certain of that, Inspector?”

Jack's heart stopped. As if in slow motion, he spun to where Mike Carter was leaning against the door. The man smiled, casually pulling a pistol.

“How are you enjoying hell, Jack?”

 

X

 

Elaine Browning didn't turn around, when the door to her cell was unlocked.

“It's time, Ma'am.”

“It appears it is,” she said, without tearing her eyes from the small piece of sky the rising sun had started to light up. Only uncomfortable silence answered her. 

“You know, one never believes it will actually happen,” she said casually, turning to the warder. Her skin was as grey as her dress. The young man agreed politely. It was his first hanging and Elaine Browning, his boss had assured him, didn't deserve his sympathy. Yet, he couldn't help but wonder if killing a lady was quite right. _“You shalt not kill”_ was after all written in the Lord's commandments. He was still pondering this, while he escorted Mrs. Browning down the long, dark halls of the Pentridge Prison to her last destination.

 

X

 

“It wasn't actually hard to find you, in case you're wondering,” Carter stated, while he took the safety off his pistol. “I just had to follow the trail of blood. And that's a nasty cough you got there, Turner. Oh, sorry, it's Robinson, isn't it?”

Grinning he walked towards the couple that stood frozen to the spot in the middle of the room. Jack was glancing at Phryne who looked pale and worn. She didn't appear to be able to fight - or run for that matter. Which meant, he had exactly one choice.

“I wouldn't even think about grabbing for that gun, Jack. Because then I would sadly have to put a bullet in your head and I doubt your wife would appreciate us getting more blood on her clothes.”

The Inspector swallowed dryly. He certainly did not want to die right in front of Phryne's eyes.

“You're completely right,” he heard her voice through the fog around his brain. It appeared calm, almost friendly - at least to someone who didn't know her. “Blood on my clothes really is not my style, Mr. Carter.”

Where Mike had been staring at Jack, his attention was drawn to Phryne, who was shaking with anger – or so the Inspector hoped.

“At least not my own,” she continued, smiling sweetly. “A lady can get rather annoyed when someone ruins her dress.”

Jack didn't dare breathing. But while Carter was distracted, his own shivering hand was sneaking towards the weapon hidden in his pocket. Just when his fingers closed around it, Carter spun. “Put it down,” he bellowed. “I will say it exactly one time.”

His pistol hovered dangerously close to Phryne's chest. Jack gulped, then slowly, very slowly lowered the revolver to the ground. When he came back up, he was staring down a barrel.

“That's a good boy,” Mike grinned, kicking the second weapon out of reach. It disappeared together with the last two saving bullets underneath the love seat. “But sadly,” the criminal continued, “I will still have to shoot you. So, who wants to die first?”

Jack met Phryne's eyes past the gangster's shoulder, then nodded.

“Ah, a gentleman,” Carter smirked. “I should have known.”

But before he had a chance to aim his pistol at Jack's head, an arm was slung around his neck, squeezing the air out of him. Mike ripped Phryne's desperate hand from himself, causing her to stumble backwards where she crashed, shoulder first, against the cabinet. A red-hot blaze of pain flashed in front of her eyes, which temporarily took her breath away. A shot rang through the silent morning as the pistol clattered to the ground while Jack lunged himself onto Carter. Both men hit the floor heavily. Wrestling against a weakened but incredibly angry Inspector, the Criminal scrabbled for his gun, bashing his opponent against the jaw with his elbow. Jack's muffled scream of pain cut through Phryne's bones. The Inspector was furiously punching and kicking at every soft spot he could find. There was nothing fair or equal about the deadly struggle but a long night fighting for their lives had taken it's toll on Jack. Carter was getting the upper hand, pinning him to the floor with a knee to his chest.

Wheezing, Jack tried to shake him off, when the man above him suddenly went quiet. The Inspector raised his eyes to see what had happened.

In the sudden silence they could hear steps rush down the hall, any minute they would be discovered and Mike Carter would be the least of their problems. But Phryne was towering over both men and something in her hand had thrown the criminal.

“Jack?” she asked.

Her husband rolled Carter off himself, before the man could wake from his frozen state and crawled to his feet, taking the gun from Phryne's shaking fingers.

He knew, one of them would have to pull the trigger. They couldn't allow Carter to follow them, and there were more of Rose's men to come any moment. If they wanted to live, he'd have to shoot an unarmed man, kneeling on the floor. Jack's finger wouldn't obey. Noticing his hesitation, the horrible grin crept back onto Carter's face.

“Coward,” he spat. Jack clenched his jaw, his finger twitching on the trigger. He needed to bring Phryne home. Steps came rushing closer. Jack drew a last breath into his aching lungs, aimed and pulled back his finger... The door flew open.

“Miss Jane!” a voice yelled. It sounded awfully familiar and Jack started. The girl standing in the door was staring at the scene in horror. Carter used the moment of confusion to scramble to his feet and push her out of the way to race down the hall. Jack wanted to follow, but found that his legs denied service - if out of exhaustion or relief, he couldn't have said.

“Jane,” Phryne whispered, staring at her daughter as if she was a Fata Morgana. Jack turned to look at his wife, who was white as the wall and appeared as close to collapsing as he had ever seen her. A moment later, Mac stormed through the door, bumping into Jane who barely kept on her feet in the second onslaught.

“Dear God!” was all she said, after taking in the scene.

“About time you show up,” Phryne smiled thinly, without moving.

“Well, you should leave an address next time,” Mac quipped, while she pulled friend into a tight embrace that belied both women's nonchalance, then took her to the loveseat to sit her down.

In the first morning light, Jack stood lost in the middle of the room until he realised that his daughter was still staring at him in disbelief. There were tears in her eyes, but she seemed unable to comprehend what was happening. Jack looked down at the pistol in his hand, then carefully laid it onto a sideboard before walking towards the teenager and wordlessly wrapping her into his arms. There was sobbing, he wasn't sure if hers or his, but it didn't really matter. A hand touched his shoulder.

“Are you all right, Sir?”

Hugh's huge eyes looked at him in deep, honest concern and Jack couldn't help but smile.

“Never been better, Collins.”

It wasn't quite a lie. Maybe a little fibbing, but then, what did it matter? They were safe. They had survived hell.

Across the quickly crowding room his eyes met Phryne's, who was watching the scene with tears shimmering in her eyes. Mac was currently berating her for bad wound management in a voice that lacked any sincerity, while feeling her pulse. The police officers who were currently not busy arresting the left guards, looked lost. Most of them weren't even City South, Jack realised. Sanderson must have cared a whole lot more than he let Rose know. Outside, a cool morning was breaking, fog wafting up from the river.

“Jack! Phryne! Thank God, yer alive!” Eddie exclaimed while he walked through the door and grasped Jack's hand. The Inspector thanked him quietly without letting go of Jane.

“You're hurt, Miss?” the Cec asked from somewhere, completely forgetting Phryne's martial status in the chaos of emotion.

“Just a scratch,” Phryne lied while she pulled herself to her feet.

Behind more policemen, Natalija and Bert pressed into the room. “You should've seen Mr. B's right hook,” the Cabbie grumbled happily. “That gangster who ran'd never seen it comin'.”

“Neither did the Commissioner,” Eddie grinned.

Mr. Butler had the decency to look embarrassed while he greeted his Master. Jack stared at him, slowly shaking his head. His fever was messing with his mind, he was certain by now. As he listened to the relieved chattering of his daughter, exhaustion slowly took over every single one of his muscles. Finally letting go of Jane to cover his mouth for another coughing attack, his eyes again sought out Phryne, who was surrounded by people. There was a tiny bit of colour to her cheeks that took a weight of his chest. But he longed to go home.

That was, however, not an option just yet, the policeman in him reminded Jack. Sanderson needed to be informed, Gabler's to be raided, and Rose - Rose was still out there, even if Carter had been stopped by Mr. Butler's fist.

“Let's get you two home,” he heard Elizabeth say beside his ear. “And there I'll have a closer look at you as well, Jack. You sound like hell, with the looks to match.”

“I always loved your charms, Mac” the Inspector commented dryly.

But he was too worn to protest, when the Doctor shoved him towards the door. On his way down the stairs, surrounded by loud, happy people, someone brushed against his arm. He realised that it was Phryne. He grasped her hand and she smiled at him briefly.

In fact, Mrs. Robinson was currently swimming in her own world. She knew they had been saved, but it felt unreal. Bantering with Mac, hugging Jane, convincing Hugh that she was fine... It all had happened through a thick veil of pain, exhaustion and confusion. She wasn't fine, not in the slightest. Grasping Jack's hand tethered her to the world, maybe in the same way as once, a long time ago, hers had kept him from slipping away. Not that she had any intentions of the kind. In fact, the whole ado about her gunshot wound was starting to get on her nerves. She just wanted to go home and sleep.

Just when the group poured through the door into the yard, the rising sun dipped the world into it's glow, turning the fog into a thick haze of shimmering orange. Phryne stopped for a moment and inhaled, holding Jack back with her. The cool morning air was amazing after the endless, waking night locked in stuffy rooms and the Inspector's arm crept around his wife, pulling her close. They were both shivering, but neither could bring themselves to care. In the distance the dark hills rose up against the milky, light sky, stretching black trees against the dawn. The world was breathtakingly beautiful to the eyes of two people who hadn't been entirely certain they would see it again.

There was a quiet whisper beside Phryne's ear, completely inaudible for anyone but her and even she could barely make out the words. But they made her smile.

The roaring of a motor cut through the moment of harmony as a police car shot with screeching tyres around the corner, coming to a sliding halt in front of the mixed group of people.

“Good God, I am so glad you are safe,” the woman jumping out exclaimed.

“Dot! I was wondering if you are at home, being a good girl?”

Phryne slipped out of Jack's grasp to hug her companion one-armed but sincerely.

“Not quite. We were speaking with Mrs. Carter and she finally broke her silence. I already telephoned Commissioner Sanderson and City South, but most of the men are here!”

Dorothy was looking flustered and panting in a way that worried Hugh.

“Dottie, calm down,” he begged of her. “What did she say?”

“Little Jacob is headed for Pentridge gaol to break out his sister!”


	35. Dark Energy

The morning wind brushed through her hair, while the Hispano Suiza moved smoothly through the streets of the waking city. Mr. Butler was a brilliant driver, as it turned out. Mrs. Robinson couldn't pretend to be surprised. Trying to ignore her throbbing shoulder, she waited for the painkillers to do their magic. At least the crusted over wound wasn't bleeding anymore and the bullet didn't seem to have injured any vital organs. She would live. It just hurt nastily.

Restlessly, Phryne's fingers moved through the soft hair of the girl that was leaning into her healthy side. Jane had her eyes closed, overwhelmed by relief after an exhausting night fearing for her parents, but Mrs. Robinson doubted that the girl was asleep. On the opposite end of the back seat sat Jack, lost in thought. He was wrapped in someone's coat, yet shivering in the wind, his cheeks flushed and Phryne once again wondered if this could really be a simple cold. Mac had avoided her burning question enquiring into Jack's health, pointing out that she had to examine the Inspector before she could make any calls. The rational part of Phryne knew that her friend was right in not attempting a blind diagnosis. But glancing at Jack's blotched face, she was certain that he belonged in bed, rather than on the trail of a dangerous criminal.

Yet, there hadn't been an argument. Even Mac had kept unusual and unexpected silence, when they had decided to drive to Coburg, rather than St. Kilda.

Of course, logic demanded for Jack and Phryne to return home and get some much needed rest. But what everybody knew, conscious or not, was, that it would be impossible for them to find any peace, while Rose was still out there. They had to finish this.

Unbeknownst to his wife, Inspector Robinson was currently pondering if he had made the right call. But it was too late now; the bluestone walls of Pentridge Prison rose from the morning fog.  There was something off, they noticed as soon as they approached. The guard lying in a puddle of blood in front of the open gate for once. Black cars seemed to be pouring out of every corner at the same time. Soon the street in front of the prison was swarming with policemen. 

The Sergeant who had first arrived at the shot man's side, shook his head. The second warder on night shift at the  main  gates had managed to drag himself to a wall, where he was sitting, trying to keep the gaping wound in his stomach closed with a hand. Blood was spilling through his fingers. 

Collins, Brent, go and telephone for an ambulance,” Inspector Robinson ordered, before he crouched down beside the wounded man, a task that currently took concentration. „Be careful, they might have left someone behind.” Obediently, the officers disappeared in the guard tower to find a telephone, while Mac rushed to the guards's side.

“They shot Freddy,” he whispered.

Jack nodded grimly, glancing at Mac, who looked serious.

“There's help on the way,” he promised the man. He doubted that there was any help to be had for the guard.

Another shot rang out in the distance. So, Rose had taken the bold approach. Shooting down everybody who dared stand in his way.

“Mr. Butler,” he waved his servant over, who approached without delay. “I want you to take Mrs. Collins and Jane home.”

His daughter wouldn't have it.

“I'm not going home! You two had almost got yourselves killed last time you ran off on your own,” she protested. Jack stared at her for a long moment, wondering how to approach this. There would be people dying today, and none of them would be children.

“We aren't on our own, Jane,” he said gently. “There's more than 30 police officers here. Trust us. I don't want you to get hurt.”

Jane stared at him in annoyance. Jack looked at Phryne for help but found that she had pulled Mr. Butler aside, whispering something into his ear. He had a faint idea what it was. Jack burned to send her home, but he couldn't. This was her fight much as his own.

“Miss Nowak, I want you to go with them as well,” he added instead. Maybe his wife didn't think that a faceless foetus needed worrying about, but Jack disagreed. It wasn't the only reason if he was completely honest. The old-fashioned part of him was certain that women shouldn't ride into battle. Unless they were Miss Fisher of course. Or Doctor MacMillan, who currently accepted a firearm from one of the policemen with blood stained hands.

Natalija was obviously not happy with his decision, but after a quiet discussion with Eddie that had the word 'Daisy' strewn in multiple times, she reluctantly agreed.

“Come,” Dot said, putting a hand onto Jane's shoulder and pulling the stubborn girl towards the waiting Hispano, throwing a last pleading look at her husband. He nodded. There was nothing that would keep Hugh from returning home to her. Just when the red car left, more police arrived, including Sanderson and Morgan.

“Right men, lets get everyone armed,” the Inspector said, instead of a greeting, while Jack informed the Commissioner of what was happening. Sanderson didn't say much, his throat was tighter than he cared to admit at seeing Jack alive, if not well. Minutes later, every weapon had found an owner.

“Are you certain that you want to do this, Miss Fisher?” Jack whispered towards his wife.

“I'd like to see you try and stop me,” she whispered back.

“I wouldn't dare. But please do me the favour and stay away from Rose,” he begged of her, while closing her fingers around a gun.

“Not if I can avoid it,” she promised, kissing him. “But considering there is more than 50 people here and I am not at the top of my game, I will likely have to leave the honours to somebody else.”

Reluctantly, Jack let go, listening to the noise in the distance that promised that Little Jacob still hadn't found his sister. It was time to make a move. With every minute they wasted, more people died. But he truly hoped that Phryne wouldn't be the one to find Rose first. Not only because he was scared that the criminal would use her weakened state to kill her but also, because he feared she might succeed in shooting him. He had shot too many people in his life to wish this on her.

After the Chief Commissioner had explained the plan, the mixed group poured through the gates to cross the building lying behind it. Sanderson ignored the fact that there were Civilians storming a prison with his men. Miss Fisher, or rather Mrs. Robinson, as he reluctantly corrected himself in his head, looked scary with her blood drenched blouse, her arm in a sling and a nasty sparkle in her eyes. Standing in her way today was definitely not a smart idea, it occurred to him.

The freezing yard lay in total silence, the first glimpses of sunlight seeping through the fog. The first officers left the group to secure guard towers and buildings. Just then another shot ripped the calmness in half. Running feet clacked over the stone. A young man in a warder uniform rushed towards them.

“They're shooting down everyone!” he screamed.

“Where are they!” Sanderson barked, but the man didn't seem to hear him, just trying to race past him. A strong hand grabbed his arm in flying past.

“Where?” Morgan asked, calmly.

The young man struggled, but realised that there was no point to it.

“D Division,” he panted.

“I could've told him that,” Phryne whispered towards Mac, who smiled grimly. Right now, the Doctor wished she had brought her bandages rather than a gun. “Only an imbecile would look for a woman headed for the gallows anywhere else.”

“While I wouldn't count on George to be surprised, there is the slight possibility that not everybody knows all the details about the inside of a prison, Miss Fisher,” Jack smiled, without stopping. “Which makes me wonder, how exactly you know?”

“I have my sources, Jack.”

The Inspector raised his eyebrows but never got to enquire further into the subject, as they arrived at a rather nondescript entrance leading into the part of Pentridge prison in which the most notorious of criminals had found their untimely, if well-deserved, ends.

Here, it wasn't quiet at all.

More men veered off to the other buildings, then the remainder of the group stepped through the steel gate. When they entered the dark hallways of the “D Division”, the noise became terrifying. The prisoners behind their doors were in uproar, some hopeful for an escape, some enraged, some frightened out of their minds. Their screaming mixed with the groans of the wounded warder, soiling the stone floor with his blood. Doctor Mac was already crouching beside him, giving him a quick look over.

“Just a scratch,” she diagnosed. “Keep this firmly pressed to it.”

“And who exactly you think you are then, Lady?” he snapped, staring at the handkerchief in his fingers.

“I am the woman who might get you to a hospital, if you are lucky,” the Doctor quipped. “So, do as your told and you'll live.”

She smiled, leaving the man lying against the wall, staring at the piece of cloth. After a moment or two, he clenched his jaw and applied pressure to his wound. His male pride wasn't quite worth dying for.

Mac caught up to the group just when Sanderson sent some men out to secure the corridors at ground level. There were more guards on the floor where the rushing down warder's had confronted Rose's men. For some of them, every help came too late. Just as Phryne crouched down beside a man who may have been in his 40s, his leg gushing blood, a shot fell, then another shortly after. Pressing herself to the floor, she glanced at Mac, who had also dived to the ground, then nodded to Jack, who had found cover behind a corner, her eyes darting to a place behind the stairs.

Jack's heart was racing in his chest, as he snuck along a wall, exposing himself to the gunman. But he felt movement behind himself, some of the other policemen were following him. Another bullet cut through the air, hitting the wall close to Jack's head. He raced forward. The man hiding behind the stairs - his staying behind probably due to having copped a shot to the foot - was still refilling his revolver, when the clicks of five safety latches being taken off sounded around his head. He stared into a pair of bloodshot eyes. The rest of the angry man wasn't any more appeasing.

“Hand it over,” Jack said. Seconds later, a Sergeant was on the Criminal's back, securing handcuffs to the man.

“Where's Rose?” Sanderson asked, when the man had been hurled to what was left of his feet.

A long string of cursing was the only answer.

“Get him out of here!” the Commissioner ordered, while Jack helped his wife to her feet.

“You alright?” he whispered.

“Perfectly fine,” Phryne quipped. “I would appreciate though, if they'd pick someone else for target practise.”

They both knew that she was lying. There was a thin sheen of sweat on her forehead. The long night still wore on her, and the exercise of throwing herself on a floor with an untreated shotgun wound, seemed like a terrible idea in retrospect. Jack allowed himself to touch her cheek which was as much affection as he would show in front of 25 police officers. Phryne smiled, missing Bert rolling his eyes at them. She felt as terrible as Jack looked. But they would be fine – at least as long as Rose's people didn't improve their aim.

While a handful of men stayed downstairs to chase down any more hidden threats, the rest of the group started to head to the upper floors, stepping over dead bodies of warders and criminals alike. There were also more wounded and Mac, aided by Cec and Eddie, did her best to patch them up enough to ensure their survival until the hospitals could take care of them. But it was just a drop in the bucket, they all quietly knew. They needed to push forward. The prison was too dangerous a place at present for any ambulance team to even enter.

More policemen were sent away to secure the next floor, amongst them Inspector Morgan, but neither Phryne nor Jack felt inclined to join them. They were here for one man and one man only. Sneaking up the stairs, the heavy pistol held in front of her, while the deafening sound of the prisoners rang in her ears, Phryne expected to be shot at any second. But instead the sight in front of her eyes caused her breath to hitch in her chest.

 

X

 

“It's unfair!” Jane screamed, pacing the parlour. “They can't just die now! We only just found them.”

“Please calm down, Miss Jane,” Mr. Butler pleaded, lying a calming hand on the girls shoulder. He wouldn't allow her to return to Pentridge gaol, no matter how much she raved. Despite the longing in his chest to be there himself, to for once be allowed to protect the people close to his heart, he knew that his Mistress had chosen a different fate for him and he wasn't going to let her down.

“Jane, please. They know what they have gotten themselves into,” Dot joined in, “and they wouldn't have gone, if they weren't sure they'd be back”. She couldn't hide that she didn't quite believe her own words though. Natalija Nowak just sat silently, as if unsure what to do with herself. Her skinny frame looked lost in the huge armchair.

“She's right,” she suddenly said. “We sit here, drinking tea, while our loved ones are dying!”

“The Inspector has ordered me to bring you to safety, Miss, and I am sure there is good reason for that,” Mr. Butler prompted.

Natalija pulled herself to her full height which was an interesting sight.

“I may be in the family way, but I don't need Jack or anyone else to tell me what to do!”

Dot stared at her, as if she had just grown a second head.

“We need to go back. Please, Mr. Butler. Please!” Jane begged.

A knock rang out, while the servant contemplated what to say. A flustered looking blonde woman stood on the doorstep.

“Is this Jack Robinson's house?” she asked, her lovely voice trembling.

“It certainly is, Mrs...”

“Willis,” Adelheid said, allowing him to take her coat. She fixed her hair and gotten dressed properly, since they had parted, Dorothy noted. In fact, she looked very nice.

“I'm afraid, the Master is presently not at home,” Mr. Butler said from behind her, as Mrs. Willis stepped into the living room. The woman didn't seem to hear him. She just gaped at Natalija and Jane who were grimly staring at the intruder, the piano, the fire place, to finally glance at the portrait of one Victorian policeman, hanging upon the wall. The picture of Jack Robinson painted by Riya Santi was so lifelike that Phryne hadn't been able to resist adding it to the decoration in her parlour, against all protest of her embarrassed lover. Now, Adelheid stared at his smiling features, her pretty mouth hanging open.

“Jack. It really is Jack,” she whispered. Then she fainted in the most dramatic way possible.

 

X

 

People were racing past her, flooding the upper floor of the prison right underneath the roof, weapons where pulled, bullets flew around her ear, screaming and grunts of pain sounded where the officers ran into criminals - but Phryne just stood, feeling herself tremble. She had seen her fair share of dead people in her lifetime. There was always something creepy to a body hanging off a rope by the neck. It was nothing against seeing Elaine Browning's remains, gently swinging in the cool breeze that crept through the cold hallway. A man stood, his back turned to the fighting men, at her feet, silently. Phryne started to run, wrapping her hand tighter around her gun, when another shot fell. A scream startled her, she spun. Eddie collapsed to the floor, clutching onto his thigh. To her right, Constable Jones was wrestling down the shooter.

“Mac!” Phryne yelled, but her friend was nowhere to be seen, doubtlessly patching up someone somewhere else. The Lady Detective threw another look at Rose, at Jack running towards him, then back to her old friend, who writhed in agony on the floor, blood spilling from his leg at a worrying pace. Making a decision, Mrs. Robinson dropped to her knees.

“Calm down, Eddie, it will be fine,” she hissed, pressing her palm to the wound and praying that she wasn't lying.

“Daisy,” her wounded friend whispered, “please make sure my girl's tak'n care of.”

“If you think that I will just let you die, you got it wrong!” Phryne panted, with all her weight leaning down on the wound, willing it to stop bleeding. “I think Miss Nowak would kill me, if I did.”

Eddie grinned weakly at this, before squeezing his eyes shut with an agonized groan.

Jack knew that she wasn't behind him, he couldn't hear her steps. But he had no time to look around, his eyes were magically drawn to Jacob Rose, standing at the feet of his dead sister.  The Inspector slowed when he approached, as if the mourning man deserved his respect, despite the blood he had spilled all over the stone floors. 

“It's over, Rose,” he said calmly, his weapon raised at the man, who slowly turned. There were traces of tears on his cheeks.

“You're right,” Jacob said. “I came too late. And yet, _you won't have the decency to die_!” 

There was no time to react. Rose's yelled words echoed of f the walls in the same moment that he ripped up his gun and pulled the trigger. Time seemed to slow down. Jack could hear Phryne scream his name somewhere in the distance,  other policemen storm closer,  but there was just thick fog around his brain while his fingers closed tighter around his weapon. The clicking sounded through the empty hallways, then another. When Jack opened his  lashes , Rose was laughing. 

“So, this is how it is. Saved by the bell, yet again, Inspector.”

He t ossed the empty weapon away and let his arms sink. 

“I guess you win,” he said. “You murdered my sister and now it's time you killed me, isn't it?”

Jack suppressed a cough, while his eyes darted to Elaine's corpse. He hadn't had time yet to find out how he felt about his tormentor having passed away. The body of the hangman lying to her feet snapped him out of his dark thoughts. His pistol still shook in his hand, while he battled down the anger rising like bile in his throat.

“Your sister was executed by the State of Victoria for murder,” he explained as calmly as he could manage. “And you will be arrested and trialled as the law demands.” 

Jack took a step closer,  while a wave of his head prompted two Constables to close in for an arrest. They moved slowly, as if they were scared of Rose, but the Inspector was fully concentrated on the man who had sent him and Phryne through hell. 

“And trust me, it is not for a lack of desire to shoot you down where you are standing,” he added, his jaw set. 

The man smirked.  Then s omething golden flashed in Jacob's hand ; a shot fell, tearing the tense air surrounding the group of men in half.  Jack stared in horror at his attacker, while  Rose's eyes widened. Then he slowly dropped to his knees, still trying to aim Phryne's gun at the Inspector. But his quickly weakening hand couldn't hold onto it, as he collapsed to the floor.  Jack was by his side before his flailing limbs had fully stretched out on the ground.

After a moment of feeling the lifeless man's throat, Jack dropped his head, looking for an appropriate feeling  in his chest . But  all  he found was fatigue and sadness. 

“He's dead,” he said to no one in particular, while Rose's blood soiled his shoes. Then he picked up Phryne's gun and stored it safely in his pockets, before turning to where Collins still stood, blankly staring at the weapon in his hand.

“I shot him,” Hugh said quietly, seemingly waking from a dream. Jack only nodded, taking the pistol from him.

“So you did, Collins. You also saved my life,” he prompted, gently taking the Constable by the shoulders and turning him away from the sight of the dead man on the floor. Slowly they walked towards the group of people huddled around where Eddie's leg wound was currently being bandaged with a piece of Phryne's skirt. Mrs. Robinson looked at her husband with eyes that promised him a sharp berating for confronting Rose by himself and betrayed endless relief that he hadn't been hurt. 

“I thought it would feel better,” Hugh admitted quietly.

Jack glanced at him, tightening his grip on the Constable's shoulder to try and give some comfort.

“It never does. But sometimes you do what needs to be done.”

Collins nodded, watching on in silence, as Jones and Arnold dragged another one of Rose's men down the stairs and thinking of Dottie and their child. He would go home with blood on his hands today. But at least it wasn't the  Inspector's . 

He saw Robinson  crouch down beside his wife, whispering something into her ear. She didn't take her hand from where she was assisting Mac in trying to save her friend, but turned and pressed a kiss to his lips. There was something akin to tears in her eyes that made Hugh want to weep along with her. 

“Well done,” George Sanderson said, patting his back, before leaving, doubtlessly to sort out the politics attached to what must be 20 bleeding men littered over the floors of Pentridge. Hugh didn't manage to answer, his throat was too tight.

“Playing the big hero, are ya?” a voice said behind the Constable. He turned to see Dahle grinning at him.

“Nothing heroic about it,” Hugh replied after a beat. “Sometimes a man just does what needs to be done.” 

With that he left the gaping Constable standing at the steps and walked down the stairs, carefully avoiding to look back.

 


	36. Callisto

The sun was standing high in the frosty blue sky by the time the group of tired, battered people arrived at St. Kilda. Jane, who had been playing a tense game of Backgammon with Dot, hardly being able to concentrate despite the relieving phone call from the Station two hours ago, was the first on her feet.

“Miss Nowak? They're back.”

Dot gently shook Natalija awake, who had fallen asleep in her armchair. She blinked into the morning light, then jumped to her feet, bringing a lamp to a dangerous tremble and followed the others into the hall. Jane was currently being hugged so tightly by Phryne that she couldn't breath. She wasn't at all sure if she wanted to.

“Where's Eddie?” Natalija asked tensely when she realised who was missing. Jack swallowed, wondering how to explain the events. But he was pushed aside by Doctor MacMillan before he had a chance to find an answer in his foggy, exhausted brain.

“Mr. Wenbrock was wounded and is being treated in a hospital right now,” she said, taking the girl by the shoulder and leading her back into the parlour.

“What happened to you?” Jane asked Cec, who was holding his arm.

“Played the bloody hero, he did!” Bert grumbled. “One of the thugs stabbed him in the arm.”

“He barely broke skin,” Yales corrected him. “But Doctor Mac wanted to bandage it up before I head home. We don't wanna scare Alice.”

“She looks rather busy at the moment,” Jane pointed out, glancing at the Doctor who was comforting a weeping Natalija.

“How about a cup of coffee while you are waiting, Gentlemen?”

The Cabbies looked at each other, then happily followed Mr. Butler into the kitchen, dreaming of a big breakfast to go with their cuppa. Mrs. Robinson's kitchen hardly ever disappointed.

Currently the Lady of the house was busy, squeezing her companion to her chest.

“You might want to head over to your house, Dot,” she whispered. “Hugh went home to clean up and I think he is in need of some comfort.”

Dot nodded, hurrying away, then turned.

“Thank you for keeping him save, Ma'am.”

“Actually, I believe it is my turn to thank him, Dot,” Phryne smiled and waved the confused looking maid off. She turned to Jane.

“I actually feel a little peckish too, lets see what Mr. Butler has prepared. Jack?”

She turned to her husband to realise that he was staring at a woman leaning in the parlour door.

“I see,” his wife quipped smiling, then she took her daughter and dragged her away to get some food. Silence spread between the people left behind.

“I still can't believe it's you, Jack,” Adelheid Willis said. “You were living next door and you didn't have the decency to come over for a cup of tea, after all this time!”

“The fact that I was undercover, meant to be someone else, rendered that somewhat impractical,” Jack said calmly. “But it is nice to see you again, Adelheid.”

The woman walked closer.

“I could have kept a secret,” she said. “You know I always could.”

“As I recall, it wasn't necessary to keep any secrets,” Jack stated levelly, thinking of Rosie's face as she had discovered the 'affair', before it had ever happened.

Phryne, who, with a cup in her hand was leaning in the door frame to the dining room, intent on not missing the show, couldn't manage to suppress her smile at the stilted conversation. It faded when she watched Adelheid close the gap, briefly running a palm over Jack's hot cheek. The Inspector retreated slightly but was stopped by the door in his back.

“You look terrible, Jack,” she said.

“Thank you,” he replied dryly. “I had a rough night. So maybe you could tell me why you are here.”

For the first time, Adelheid seemed a little embarrassed.

“You know that Terry...”

She trailed off, looking at him from underneath her lashes.

“Worked for Jacob Rose?”

“Only Gabler's, Jack. He worked there long before they 'expanded' in the back. Couldn't exactly say no, could he?”

Jack swallowed down his anger, remembering Phryne's words. There were children starving in Collingwood and blaming a father for not risking his job was probably self-righteous.

“I'll see what I can do,” he said, hoping that the conversation would end with that. But Adelheid didn't move.

“You're a good man, Jack. Always have been.”

Before either of the spouses had time to react, she had kissed him. Phryne's mouth fell open, but while she still played with the though of snapping the woman's neck, Jack had grasped his old acquaintance's wrists and peeled her from himself, breaking into a coughing attack that was far from romantic.

“Adelheid, that is more than inappropriate!” he ground out hoarsely.

But she just giggled.

“Oh, Jack, you're adorable. But no reason to be worried. Just a little kiss between friends. And I can keep a secret,” she added with a wink.

The Inspector shook his head, trying to get rid of the cobwebs clouding his brain. Had the whole world gone insane? Then he gently took Adelheid by the shoulders and removed her from himself.

“If you'll excuse my, I'd like to look after my wife.”

A second later he spotted Phryne standing, amusement written across her features, in the dining room.

“You could've helped me,” he whispered, joining her and grabbing for a sandwich.

“That would have spoiled all the fun of watching you getting flustered,” she smiled.

Jack rested a hand on her hip, watching her out of dark eyes, while he chewed.

“You didn't doubt my loyalty, I take it?” he asked.

“Not for a moment,” she quipped, meaning a lot more than the scene in the hall.

His intense eyes were still holding her gaze, as she leaned up to chase any memories of other women's lips away with her own.

“Come on then you two love birds,” a yawning voice sounded from the door. “Let's get you taken care of so you can get some rest.”

Phryne rolled her eyes at Mac, while she retreated.

“Talking about rest, Mac, when was the last time you have gotten any sleep?”

A dismissive gestures was the only answer she received.

“Maybe if you stop shooting people there will be time for me to get some rest,” Mac grumbled, throwing another look at Natalija, who watched the scene with absent eyes.

“I've hardly shot at anyone today,” Phryne protested and glanced out into the hall that was decidedly empty. “Has our house guest left?”

“If you are talking about your obnoxious neighbour, she just pulled the door shut behind herself. Miss Nowak will accompany me to the hospital, once I am done here. She seems rather fond of Mr. Wenbrock.”

The spouses shared an amused look.

“I guess you could say that,” Jack prompted, taking his wife's hand and dragging her towards the stairs.

“I don't even want to know!” the Doctor mumbled, following the couple to the upper floor with her bag in hand, while suppressing a yawn.

“As you please, Mac,” Phryne grinned and added with a careful glance at Jack: “But I do need to ask you something.”

 

X

 

Commissioner Sanderson looked up from the mountain of paperwork, when his assistant entered.

“Mr. Easton, please take a seat. I would like to talk to you about what happened this morning.”

“About the press, Sir?”

Sanderson nodded.

“I am fairly certain that the papers will be full with both the kidnapping and the bloodshed at Coburg tomorrow. Let's make sure, they get it right this time.”

“I will do my hardest, Sir.”

Mr. Easton rose, just when a knock sounded at the door.

“Come,” Sanderson called. The two police officers obeyed. Both looked tired after the long night.

“Would you like me to bring some more coffee, Sir?” Jarrod Easton asked, continuing his way to the door.

“Actually, please stay,” George prompted. “I am not certain if you have met Inspector Morgan, Constable Jones.”

“A pleasure, Gentlemen,” Mr. Easton quipped, rather confused. He wasn't used to being formally introduced to police officers.

“I doubt that,” the Inspector quipped, pulling out his handcuffs.

“That won't be necessary,” Sanderson said, gesturing for the irons to be put away.

Easton looked from one man to the other.

“I don't understand,” he stated, smiling thinly.

George Sanderson stood up behind his desk, leaning his heavy palms onto the table. The officers weren't the only ones who had had a rough night.

“I asked the men to come to arrest you, Mr. Easton. You see, I kept wondering how Little Jacob could have known about the Robinson's assignment in Collingwood. There was too much coincidence for no planning to be involved. Mr. Carter's appearance in both their neighbourhood as Robinson's working place for one. 

“Of course,” Easton pointed out calmly. “He was meant to keep an eye on him. We arranged for this, Sir!”

“Yet, the foreman responsible for employing him wasn't told that Carter worked for the Victorian police but for Little Jacob.”

“Just a bluff, Commissioner. The men there are a lot less likely to cooperate with the police than they are scared of a Grog Baron in their neighbourhood. I couldn't know it was the truth.”

Sanderson smiled grimly.

“Yet, you failed to mention this Grog Baron to me that you were so familiar with? I do believe you were bluffing a lot, Mr. Easton.”

The clerk looked at him calmly.

“You do not seriously accuse me of having been involved in Mr. Carter's betrayal, Sir?”

Sanderson cleared his throat, quizzically staring at his assistant.

“I believe in fact much more. On my orders you carefully planned the set up of the Robinsons in Collingwood, right between the Carters and the Willis family - with the husband working in the back rooms of Gabler's and the wife being known for being a chatterbox. All a coincidence on the first look, but really not, was it, Mr. Easton?” 

The clerk opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“But do you know what really gave you away?” Sanderson asked conversationally, sitting back down.

“Enlighten me, Sir,” the man pressed out.

“You leave my office every evening at exactly the same time. I can set my clock after it. Yet, last night, when I returned from City South, you were still here. You knew that Rose had Jack! And you were also were aware of his intentions to head for Pentridge while we were distracted, should the ransom fail.”

“So, it was my hard work that proved my guilt to you?” Jarrod Easton asked, smiling faintly.

“I'm afraid so,” Sanderson said, nodding. 

“Why didn't you have me arrested then?” the clerk asked.

George took his glasses off his nose, starting to polish them, a nervous habit that his assistant knew all too well.

“I was hoping you would give Rose's plan away,” he finally stated, smiling. “And you did. When Mrs. Collins telephoned, the hangman was already on his way to Pentridge.”

He looked up at the two officers, who stared at him with their mouths open, as if he had briefly forgotten their presence.

“I didn't have enough manpower to stop Rose from invading the Bluestone College and save the Robinsons at the same time. But I was certainly not going to allow Rose to free his sister.”

Grimly smiling, he closed a folder on his desk.

“Whenever you're ready, Gentleman,” he prompted, when all three men just kept staring at him. Finally, Inspector Morgan awoke from his stunned silence and did the honours.

 

X

 

“You said it was a simple cold!”

The accusation in Phryne's voice caused Mac to roll her eyes at her friend, who was propped up in bed, with her finally properly washed and bandaged shoulder carefully bedded on a pillow.

“I also recall recommending rest and chicken soup, not throwing yourselves into the Yarra and wandering damp basement.”

Phryne pulled her lips into a pout.

“That was hardly Jack's fault.”

“As much as I am enjoying this discussion,” the Inspector cut in, rubbing his stinging chest, where Mac's stethoscope was still pressed to his hot skin, “I would be more interested to know if I should be worried about this.”

“As I said, it's a mild case of pneumonia, Jack. You're running a fever and breathing will be painful for a while, but you should be back to your old, reckless self in about two week's time.”

As she said that, the Doctor grabbed his chin, carefully inspecting his face, before grabbing for a saturated cloth and cleaning the dried blood from his scratch.

“But I do want you to rest. And when I say that, I mean stay in bed, not chase criminals!” she explained rather sharply, dabbing at his wound.

“I will inform the underworld that we will have to reschedule,” Jack joked, then flinched when the iodine burned its way into his cut.

“It's not too deep but will probably leave a small scar,” Mac said after a pause. Jack couldn't suppress a grin while he glanced at his still pouting wife.

“Another one for Phryne's collection then,” he smiled.

“She will have a rather pretty one herself,” Mac stated grimly. “I find it amazing how the two of you manage to always stand in the way of the most dangerous criminals at the wrong time.”

“We are very gifted,” Phryne quipped, blowing her nose.

“I have to agree. And before you ask, this is merely a plain old cold and if you refrain from taking any more bathes in the river within the next week, it will remain just that,” Mac stated, packing up her instruments. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll have to get back to the hospital; there is a fair amount of recently wounded people to take care of.”

“Thank you, Mac,” the Inspector smiled, buttoning up his pyjamas.

“Anytime, Jack. Even though I would prefer it to be less frequent, if you can arrange it.

“We shall try our hardest,” Phryne quipped from the bed while sipping a cup of tea.

“And doubtlessly fail,” Mac grumbled, grabbing her bag and leaving, before her annoyance could fully evaporate. Patching up her friends had never been a particular favourite of hers and there really were plenty of wounded in the hospital. She also did hope to be able to collapse into her bed some time within the next 24 hours.

Her friend's disappearance was followed by a sneeze from Phryne. When she resurfaced and leaned back into a bed that she hadn't recalled to be quite this soft and wonderful, she realised that Jack was riffling around in her things.

“Are you coming to bed?” she asked, sleepily.

“Just a moment, Miss Fisher,” he requested, then finally he had found what he'd been looking for. Happily he produced a key and unlocked a very special drawer. Phryne smiled when he sat down on the bed and extended his right palm in which their rings lay. Instead of taking either of her own, Phryne fished for Jack's. Obediently he stretched out his hand and let his wife slip the symbol of their union over his shaky finger, before helping her with both her wedding and her engagement ring. Neither of them said a word. The contact with the soft pillows had made the Inspector realise that he was so exhausted that he feared he'd have to sleep on the covers in lack of energy to crawl underneath them. A cough shook him awake enough to realise that that was a terrible idea.

“Jack?” Phryne asked, while he pulled the blanket up to his shoulder, trying to ignore his freezing limbs. He nodded silently. Phryne wanted to tell him everything. That she wasn't sure how to feel about the sibling's deaths; that she was worried about Eddie; that asking Mac if she could help with Natalija's abortion didn't mean that she hadn't listened to his side in their quarrel; that she was embarrassed about how cruel she had been in said argument. But mostly how much she had feared for him. 

Instead she just raised her hand and stroked his flushed face, then pulled him closer and pressed a kiss to his hot lips.

“What is it?” he whispered.

“Nothing that can't wait until the morning,” Phryne said, letting her eyes fall shut. Jack was asleep before he could point out that it was only lunch time. 


	37. Moon

“What are you doing, Mr. B?”

The servant smiled quietly and shuffled the papers back into place, before turning to where Jane stood, stifling a yawn.

“I just sorted some paperwork away,” he said smoothly and pushed the drawer shut, before pulling himself back to his full height. “Would you like some breakfast, Miss Jane?”

“It is evening, Mr. Butler,” the girl carefully pointed out.

“Very true, Miss. Dinner then?”

She grinned.

“Breakfast will do.”

They left the parlour behind and Mr. Butler breathed a sigh of relief. He rather hoped that he had hidden the letter well enough for Jane to never come across it. While he was aware that the  Robinson's concern for their daughter 's future only spoke of their love for their foster child and he also felt deeply honoured by the responsibility they had lain into his hands, he doubted that the girl could appreciate the knowledge in which their testament had been written - that life was dangerous for a couple of Detectives. But, as things stood, it wouldn't be needed for the time being  and thank God for that . 

Whistling, he cooked tea while Jane busied herself toasting slices of bread and  setting butter and jam on the table. He probably should have been tired, considering that he had been the only one not going to bed, but having the house full of exhausted but quietly happy people really felt incredibly restful. And he might have had a nap by the fireplace while attempting to polish the silver. 

“Tell me, Mr. Butler. Do you ever sleep?” he heard Jane suddenly asked. He turned, a smile playing around his lips.

“I don't know what you mean, Miss Jane?”

Neither his wink nor her grin were at all suitable for  the conversation between servant and Mis tress. Mr. Butler enjoyed both immensely. 

 

X

 

Dorothy Collins  lay awake in the darkness.  Her husband was  snuggled into her chest,  sprawled across the bed and mumbl ed in his sleep. Considering his words, he was dreaming of pirates  on the sea and Dot couldn 't help but bite her lip in fond amusement. Running her fingers gently through his hair, she pondered. He had shot someone today and maybe that should have scared her. But instead she just felt blessed that neither of the people she loved had let their lives today at Pentridge.

Hugh had cried earlier today, the first time she had ever seen him to. And though she wasn't certain if his tears were for Jacob Rose or the Inspector's close brush with death or maybe only for himself, who would never be the same stumbling, innocent man she had met two years ago, it had touched her so deeply that she thought she'd suffocate, while she'd held him.

Now he shuffled in his sleep, bedding his head on her belly, where the baby moved, obviously annoyed by his father's inability to hold still. Dot shook her head at both. She wondered if she would tell her little one someday about Hugh's heroic day, when he not only survived the bloodiest prison break in Melbourne's history, but had also saved the life of Inspector Robinson. It would probably have to wait a few years, she decided.

But she would never hide how proud she was of him. Not just for today but even more so for his court appearance, where his courage and love for the Inspector had brought grown men to tears. And for his generosity, with which he had the world allowed to think him an adulterer, rather than endanger the Robinsons. Her roaming fingers tickled Hugh's ear and he swapped at her like at a fly, grunting something in his sleep. Dot grinned, gently rubbing her tummy.

“You're father is a hero,” she whispered for only her baby to hear. “And don't you ever forget it.”

 

X

 

Albert was currently busy with his breakfast consisting of a rather fat fly, when the door was opened roughly. Two of the visitors were back, staring into the small cottage with some disgust. The spider tipped it's head, waiting for the show. That the lovely couple was gone he had grasped in his little insect brain some time ago. It was a bit of a shame really, but then, life went on.

“Well done, Cec. Ya just had to volunteer to come pack up,” the older man grumbled.

“Who else would've done it then? Mrs. Robinson?” the younger guy asked, starting to pile the dirty dishes into the sink.

“It's not like she hasn't got enough people doing her deeds,” Bert grumbled, looking for a broom.

“True,” Cec smiled. “I believe they include us.”

“Thank you, Mr. Know-it-all,” his friend replied without any real sincerity. Just then, the door was half broken down by a woman with blonde hair.

“Oh, I heard right, there are people here,” Adelheid chirped, a basket on her arm that she set down on the table before either of the men could react. “And two very strong men too. Cleaning up for the Robinsons, are you? That's so lovely of you. You keep going and I will make you a cup of tea.”

The two Cabbies looked at each other in confusion, then shrugged. A cuppa wouldn't hurt while they folded up underwear and swept glass from the floor. On his window seat Albert grinned. Life certainly went on.

 

X

 

 

They were woken by the ringing of the telephone. Jack groaned, anticipating Mr. Butler coming with news of a murder somewhere that he had to attend to. Stifling a cough he pulled his aching body upright. Or at least he  attempted to, as he had barely managed to shift onto his elbows, when an arm came up to drag him back onto his pillow. 

“You know what Mac said,” a sleepy voice pointed out.

“I still need to know-”

Phryne closed his mouth with a kiss. Jack surrendered, looking into her sleepy blue eyes, then wrapped his arm around her and drew her closer.

“The strength of your argument is undeniable, Miss Fisher,” he whispered into her ear, revelling in the warmth of her body. Phryne was sorely tempted to fortify her reasoning further, when a knock sounded at the bedroom door. Mr. Butler entered a second later, a tray in hand and a greeting on his lips.

“Doctor MacMillan telephoned, Ma'am. She asked me to not call you down, as she wishes for you to stay in bed, but I am to tell you that Mr. Wenbrock has survived the night and is likely going to recover from his wound.” 

“That's wonderful news, Mr. Butler. I will visit him later today.”

Jack raised his eyebrows, before pulling himself into a sitting position, a hand pressed to his stinging chest.

“Mr. Butler, could you please arrange some flowers to be sent to the hospital with our best wishes. My wife has briefly forgotten that she is to rest today.”

The last words were directed at Phryne, who pulled a face. Mr. Butler grinned.

“Very well, Sir. I have brought some breakfast and the newspaper. You might want to pay special attention to page 15.”

“That seems rather far back for our adventure,” Phryne protested, fishing for the offered paper, while Jack thanked the servant and shoved a pillow in his wife's back.

“Also, Miss Jane has chosen to telephone your father, Sir. He sends his gratitude for being informed and I believe he also expressed a certain annoyance about your display of carelessness.”

“He can get in line there,” Miss Fisher mumbled, from where she was absorbed in an article, while the Inspector only groaned. As expected, the _'Bloodbath in the Bluestone College'_ had made the front page. 

“ _Eight_ _people were shot to death in the struggle_ ,” Phryne read aloud. _“Many more have been hospitalised and the numbers are still likely to rise.”_

“Way too many,” Jack said tonelessly, while Mr. Butler quietly closed the door behind himself.

“They might be exaggerating,” Phryne pointed out, without real conviction.

The Inspector rubbed both palms over his face.

“I can't help but wonder if Rose would have taken such drastic measures if Banks hadn't ordered her execution,” he said, after a long moment of silence. His wife glanced briefly at him.

“You know I am not a supporter of the death penalty, Jack. An eye for an eye seems thoroughly old-fashioned to me.”

“I agree and still I was relieved to see her dead,” the Inspector admitted quietly. “To see both of them dead.”

Phryne let the paper think, grasping for his hand.

“It is hard to not wish for revenge, when the pain is your own,” she said, thinking of Murdoch Foyle. Then, in sudden resolve she let go of Jack and flicked further through the papers, in search of the article Mr. Butler had pointed out. 

“And also they were both an egg short of a souffle. The world might be better off without them,” she added in the middle of riffling through the pages. Jack took a sip of coffee, enjoying the silence and the soft mattress under his aching limbs, without answering. His wife was too enthralled in the papers to notice. On page three Phryne stopped.

“It seems Nurse Campbell will be charged after all,” she said. “She has given a full confession as has her sister-in-law.”

“If she will be convicted remains to be seen,” Jack pointed out, taking the paper from his wife's hand and handing her a slice of toast instead. “Either way, I am glad that you have found someone that Mac has trust in to take care of Miss Nowak.”

The slightly bitter tinge colouring his voice wasn't lost on Phryne, but she swallowed her bite of toast before answering.

“I believe it to be the best choice for her, Jack.”

“I know,” he said, without looking up from reading the article, then flashed a smile at his wife who looked at him sceptically and repeated: “I know.”

“But nevertheless, I will offer her an alternative, if she so chooses,” Phryne said calmly. The Inspector turned to look at her, unable to hide his surprise.

“You had a point, Jack. It isn't our decision. Neither mine nor yours. It's up to Natalija and as thing stand, possibly Eddie. We'll help them either way they choose.”

Jack didn't answer. He took her hand,  breadslice and all, and pulled it to his lips. 

“I just remembered why I married you, Miss Fisher,” he whispered hoarsely, then snuck a bite of her toast with a cheeky grin before releasing her.

“And why is that, Jack?” she smiled, leaning back while she watched him chew and flick further through the papers.

“Because you are quite probably the most amazing woman I have ever encountered,” he smiled, without looking up from his reading material and stifled a cough.

“Only 'quite probably'? Phryne asked, pulling her bare lips into a pout.

“Very probably,” he answered, seeming distracted.

His wife watched him, while a grin spread over her face.

“Then you will doubtlessly not mind the other plans I have made, granted that my Lord and Master agrees.”

Finally Jack looked up.

“Your 'Lord and Master' has never had much impact on your decisions, as far as I recall,” he grinned, stealing another bite from her.

“In fact he has much more influence than he is aware of,” Phryne stated casually, snuggling back into the pillows with a flinch. She probably should take some more painkillers after breakfast.

“Is that so?” the Inspector asked, flipping further through the paper, still searching for page 15.

“Yes. And therefore I wanted to ask your opinion before I call Mr. Goldner for an appointment.”

Her husband raised his eyebrows at her.

“To what purpose?”

“I would like him to weigh our financial possibilities to make a major investment,” Mrs. Robinson stated nonchalantly. “I am considering to buy 'Gabler's Textiles'. Of course after Georgey is done with it.”

To her utter satisfaction, the Inspector just stared at her for a long moment before finding his composure.

“You are aware that you won't be able to continue brewing grog, Miss Fisher?” he asked.

“We shall see,” Phryne replied, chewing on her toast, while hiding a broad grin. “I will talk to Sanderson, as soon as his investigations are through. We could have our own whisky production, Jack.”

“You might want to work on the recipe,” her husband mumbled under his breath, finally reaching the desired page. “But chances for a legal grog production are slim.”

“Then we sell the stills and find something else to do with the space. But if 'Gabler's' was to close, it would be a disaster for Collingwood. There aren't enough jobs as it is. And there is plenty of need for textiles,” Phryne added, thinking of the girls playing in front of the school.

Jack glanced at her with a certain glitter in his eyes.

“You know, Miss Fisher, whenever I believe I have finally pegged you, you surprise me yet again.”

“Glad to hear it, Jack.”

Satisfied, Mrs. Robinson fished for her tea cup, while the Inspector returned to the newspaper to finally study the news that Mr. Butler had pointed out. For a long moment it was silent, only interrupted by a cough and Phryne's attempt to return the cup to her nightstand without drenching the floor. Then Jack's face fell and he handed the page wordlessly to his wife. Phryne read, a broad grin spreading over her features. 

“ _Tales of the Night - A Harlot Confesses Her Secrets,”_ was written in broad letters across the page. 

“I assume we know said 'harlot'?” the Lady Detective asked happily, while she glanced over the article.

“They have quoted her in detail about the 'Butcher Case',” the Inspector groaned. “She promised she wouldn't let slip a word.”

“Yes, but then she didn't know that keeping the secret could ruin her sister's marriage,” Phryne mumbled, reading quietly. She had spent some time at the station talking to Hugh about the gone week. “And truthfully, she describes you in a very flattering fashion. Very professional and also incredibly handsome.”

“Dear God,” Jack groaned, letting himself sink back into the pillows. Smiling, Phryne dropped down beside him, tossing the newspaper aside.

“I do agree,” she quipped, kissing his chest through the fabric of his pyjamas. Jack's arm came up to pull her close, while she slipped a hand towards the edge of his pants. His next groan was of a different nature.

“You know,” he pointed out, “those activities could be severely complicated by your shoulder.”

Phryne tilted her head and leaned in to kiss him.

“I've never minded a challenge, Inspector.”

He looked at her with intense eyes full of warmth and love, then smiled.

“That you haven't.” He stretched out his free hand to weave it through her hair. “While some of us are looking at the stars, hardly anyone just reaches for the moon, despite it being so much closer,” he grinned.

Phryne smiled cheekily, content when he lost his breath a second later.

“So you think I am grasping for the moon then, Jack?” she wondered loudly, while brushing her lips over a scar on his forehead.

“You?” he asked, opening his lashes and gently pulling her in for another kiss. “You, Miss Fisher have the moon firmly by its throat.”

 


End file.
